


Amazing Grace

by RZZMG



Series: Hermione x Draco stories [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Kiss, Ghost Sex, Ghosts, Kissing, Mystery, Reincarnation, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-20
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-08 03:47:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RZZMG/pseuds/RZZMG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having been killed in the Final Battle, Draco Malfoy & Hermione Granger remain behind as ghosts. Perhaps it's true that one's ultimate salvation comes from a single amazing act of grace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How Sweet The Sound

**Author's Note:**

> REVISION 1.0 (original submission): January 8, 2011
> 
> REVISION 2.0 (changed submission): July 11, 2011
> 
> STORY DETAILS: A Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger story. Story is novel compliant up until the day of the Final Battle of Hogwarts (May 2, 1998). From that day onward, it's an Alternate Universe (and characters are a little OCC [out of character] as a result of the plot). THIS IS A ROMANTIC/DRAMA/ANGST/MYSTERY STORY.
> 
> TIMELINE: December, 1998 (no end date given, as that's a spoiler)
> 
> CHARACTERS FEATURED (alphabetical order, last name): The Bloody Baron, Albus Dumbledore, Hermione Granger, The Grey Lady (Helena Ravenclaw), Ruebus Hagrid, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Scorpius Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Arthur Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Molly Weasley, Ron Weasley, Rose Weasley, Blaise Zabini
> 
> SUMMARY: Having both been killed in the Final Battle of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger remained behind as ghosts, not crossing over. Trapped at the school, never able to leave the boundaries of the walls surrounding the castle and its property, it was inevitable that they would run into each other again… Perhaps it's true that one's salvation comes from a single amazing act of grace.
> 
> RATING: M+ (NC-17 – including explicit consensual sex, oral sex, masturbation, profanity, discussion of death).
> 
> IMAGES FOR FIC: You can see images I picked to represent the characters in this fic here: http://s905.photobucket.com/albums/ac260/RZZMG/Amazing%20Grace/

 

  
.

_**Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound** _  
_**That saved a wretch like me.** _  
_**I once was lost, but now am found;** _  
_**Was blind, but now I see.** _

.

**Tuesday, December 1st, 1998**

 

The first time Hermione Granger talked to Draco Malfoy after the war ended was December the first that same year.

For seven months after Voldemort's defeat - and consequently, both of their deaths - Slytherin's former Prince staunchly avoided her, going out of his way to disappear through walls or float upwards and away to keep from crossing her path. She knew from rumour via The Bloody Baron that Malfoy spent the majority of his time skulking around the dungeons specifically so he could dodge her, and for some odd reason, being so prominently and purposefully shunned irritated her.

Now, however, both of them were good and caught, and there would be no chance for a clever sidestep and escape, thanks to the castle's rather annoying habit of enchanting _Viscum album_ to randomly pop-up, magically preventing couples - even spiritual ones, apparently - from moving in any solid direction again until they kissed under the obnoxiously parasitic weed.

"Who in the bloody hell invented such a wanked-out tradition anyway?" Malfoy snarked. His attention was directed up at the sprig of mistletoe creeping downwards towards them - a white-berry harbinger of doom.

Hermione sighed. Being dead hadn't changed him a bit, had it? He was still a git.

"Professor Vindictus Viridian did," she rather primly informed him, smoothing her Muggle jumper down in the front. "In 1735, when he decided to retire from teaching, he wrote that he wanted to leave an enduring legacy behind – something aside from his portrait and his dislike of the student body, that is to say. It's all explained in _Hogwarts, A History_ , if you'd ever bothered to read it." Crossing her arms, she stared up at him with resignation. "Now, can we just get on with the kissing thing so we can part ways? I don't fancy standing here for the next century."

Her unwitting companion's testy gaze zeroed in on her. "Really, and why is that? It's not as if we're going anywhere else - _ever_."

Rolling her eyes at such melodramatic foolishness, she took a deep breath and slowly let it out to calm her rising irritation - which was a rather funny idiosyncrasy, as technically she didn't need to breathe anymore. However, the residual memory of the life she'd only recently abandoned was hard to shake.

"Look, Malfoy, I get it that you're probably bitter about what happened-"

"And you're not?" he asked, rudely cutting her off. "So simple for you then, is it – being dead?" Leaning back on his heels and crossing his arms, he sneered down at her in that imperious way he'd perfected over the years. "Yes, I suppose it would be, seeing as how stiff you were while breathing. Probably didn't shag once before snuffing it, I'll bet."

Infuriated beyond the capacity for rational dialogue by such impolite commentary on her lack of a romantic life, she hauled back and punched the rotten snake in the shoulder – hard. His rather prissy "Ow!" and girly flinch in response was quite satisfying, in her opinion. He'd had _that_ and more coming to him for a long time.

"Hey, ghosts can touch each other!" he squawked in surprise.

Hermione tsk'd at his ignorance. "Haven't you paid attention to the specters around this place? Didn't you notice how they could hold hands and dance together, and how The Bloody Baron could grab Peeves by the ear? You've only lived here for practically most of every year for the last seven. Didn't any of that sink in at all during that time?" Shaking her head, she huffed with some small measure of condescension. "Honestly, to think you'd once been Number Two in the class…" Straightening her Muggle sweater by pulling the hem down, she impatiently waved at him to lean closer. "Now, kiss me so we can get past all this nonsense and move on with our lives."

He actually growled at her. "Kiss you? Have you been sniffing around Sprout's weed garden, Granger? These lips don't touch the inferior. Besides, don't you mean so we can both move on with our _deaths_? We aren't, technically, living anymore – or hadn't you noticed?"

She sighed louder, her patience with his flippant attitude at an end. "Whatever." Grabbing the lapels of his black jacket, she hauled him forward, stood up on her tiptoes and placed a potent smooch on his lips.

The look on his ferret face as she pulled away was priceless – incredulity mixed with terror, blended and whipped-up nicely with a healthy dose of riled anger. His lips, however… now, they'd conveyed something completely different about the encounter: they'd been warm and pliant, almost welcoming of her attention, as they'd softened up there at the end. And they'd been flavored a bit like a rather intoxicating blend of spiced tea.

In short, the kiss had been wonderful, despite its brief existence.

Wasn't that just the oddest thing? She'd been under the impression that even being able to touch each other, ghosts would continue to feel nothing truly... _stirring_... from the experience. At least, that was the state she'd lingered in since the moment she'd 'awoken' to find herself a shade, and how both The Bloody Baron and The Grey Lady had each described the afterlife to her when they'd individually discussed it with her. Further, from her own brief experimentations on the issue in the months since she'd accepted her new, ghostly existence, she knew spirits couldn't taste or smell anything either. The only senses that seemed to remain wholly unaffected by one's spiritual state were sight and hearing.

And yet, she'd felt Malfoy's kiss!

No, that couldn't be! It had to have been a mistake, that's all. Perhaps she'd simply projected her longing to actually feel something onto the experience, and thus imagined the impression of temperature, texture, and odor? Or maybe it had just been a fluke - some sort of weird electrical discharge in the air that affected them coincidentally to create a false impression of having briefly reacquired all five senses? Or maybe she was again just tricking her own mind into believing she was still living. After all, Sir Nicholas had warned her that in some instances, it took decades for the truth of a ghost's reality to sink in.

There _was_ a simple way to determine the truth, of course, but it would require her to willingly press her and Malfoy's mouths together.

Eww. Gross. Forget it.

Glancing up at the wizard before her - _when had he gotten so tall?_ \- she noted that he remained as frozen as she by the situation. Queerly, in fact, he didn't react at all as she'd assumed he would; he didn't seem in the least bit inclined to curse her, or push her off, or to immediately run and rinse his mouth out. Instead, he simply stood there, looking down at her with assessing, narrowed eyes.

Maybe he'd felt it, too?

The idea of trying the kiss again just to make sure was a reckless, nagging voice in the vaults of her spectral mind, but her higher brain backed the bus up straight away for a harsh dose of reality: the excuse of the mistletoe compelling them wouldn't fly any longer as a believable subterfuge to hide her personal curiosity in this case, as the pesky verdure was charmed to disappear as soon as the prerequisite kiss was done.

She made a cursory check of their magically-compelled status with a roll of her eyes upward, and found her supposition to be correct: the weed was gone.

Therefore, if she attempted to kiss Malfoy again, she'd be wide open for his harsh censure…

Wait! Perhaps she was going about this all wrong. This wasn't personal, really; it was an experiment. The kissing would only be an effort of research. After all, the mark of a good, objective scientist was to attempt to recreate a scenario to prove a hypothesis, and that would be the extent of what she was doing here, right? Mating her mouth to Draco's once more would have absolutely nothing to do with wanting to reconstruct that pleasant feeling she'd just experienced, and everything to do with conducting a fair, investigative endeavor.

Right?

Right.

Pulling again at his lapels, tugging him back down, she took full advantage of his momentary delay in action - _silence could be considered consent, after all!_ \- and kissed him a second time.

_Oh. My._

This was… well, it was actually quite nice. Comparable to the experience of sipping hot, honeyed tea on a really cold winter's morn. Or similar to that rapturous happiness that only chocolate truffles melting on her tongue had ever been able to bring her. It rated right up there, she had to admit, as one of the best surprises she'd ever been given, closely approaching the wonder of her getting her first Hogwarts' acceptance letter, or receiving her first "Outstanding" in Snape's Potions class, or even that time she'd captured Rita Skeeter in her Animagus form under the glass.

In a phrase, she was beguiled.

To her utter astonishment – and probably his – Malfoy actually relaxed and hesitantly, he began kissing her back. His hands moved to rest quite naturally on her hips, allowing her the opportunity to slide her hands up his chest to twine around his neck and to relax as well…

…and that's when the experience skyrocketed past any other feeling of euphoria she'd previously encountered.

The kiss quickly evolved from tentative, explorative tastings, into something hot, wanton and wholly delicious. Their mouths practically ate each other up, their tongues entwining, pulling apart, only to seek out the other again and again as Hermione got the crash course in how to French kiss, never having done it before. Around a moan, Draco pulled her into him and shoved one hand into her hair, fisting through her curls to cradle her head, while his free hand secured her waist. "Tastes so good," he murmured in between pulls of their lips.

"Mmmm," she agreed around his gentle biting of her bottom lip.

It was a strange sensation to once again feel her heart pounding in her chest after being so still for so long, and to have all of her senses instantly and powerfully respond to an outside stimulus, heightened to degrees she'd never even realized were possible. And yet, at the same time, Hermione knew that none of those living, biologic responses were in actuality _real_ for someone like her, a non-living entity. Logically, she understood that she had no blood to pump, no nerves to arouse, and no solid mass to house the miracle of awareness of the natural world, and that meant that these inciting phenomena were but a lingering remembrance of her former existence.

Still, in that moment, she felt more alive than she ever had. This "awakening" of her senses was a potent aphrodisiac, deviously enthralling, and she slipped and fell into the feelings, entirely forgetting her predicament for the time being. Her whole world narrowed down to _Draco_ and _this_ , and nothing else mattered anymore.

It was several minutes before either of them had the mind to consider the voices about them whispering in hushed tones and giggling, and it wasn't until Hermione actually heard her name spoken aloud that she pulled away from her partner with a start, staring up at him in dawning horror.

Holy catamoli, she'd just kissed Draco Malfoy, and liked it! No, more than liked it – she'd _loved_ it and had never wanted it to stop. Panicked, she tried to convince her horrified brain that she must be coming down with some kind of spectral flu and was feverish. Yes, that was the only logical explanation…

To be fair, Slytherin's former top dog seemed as equally shaken and appalled by his behavior, and it was almost in consensus that the two of them realized how ridiculous the entire situation was and jumped away from the other – quite literally – the mistletoe curse unquestionably broken by their rather intense snogging session.

A nearby pack of Gryffindor girls she'd recognized as fourth years – who had known her in life, surely - giggled again, and Hermione turned her sternest glare on them, hands on hips, and rather crossly addressed them. "Don't you have classes to go to, you ninnies? Shoo!"

As the group turned away, laughing, it was with dismay that she recognized Luna standing nearby, having been witness to the whole incident. "Hello, Hermione Granger." Her friend waved at her and smiled in that faraway, quixotic manner she delighted in presenting to the world.

"Hello, Luna," Hermione replied with a resigned sigh, completely ignoring Malfoy, assuming he'd buggered off as soon as her back was turned anyway. She floated over to her friend, who was back at school this year, along with Ginny, to begin her seventh year. Their classes were shared with those members of the previous year's Senior Class who had opted to accept McGonagall's invitation to repeat their final year over at no expense so they could properly sit their N.E.W.T.s. The eighth-years included most of her fellow Gryffindors - minus Harry, who went into the Auror apprenticeship program, and Ron, who was helping George run his store in lieu of Fred - a handful of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, and two Slytherins: Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott.

"That was quite a kiss you shared with Draco Malfoy just now," the blonde remarked. "But, I suppose it's no real surprise. He is quite handsome, isn't he? And it's clear that the Red-String of Fate has always connected you two. Anyone could see it when you were alive, and it's still there now that you're dead."

Hermione nibbled her bottom lip, feeling the warmth of her blood and the pounding of her heart beginning to recede, returning her to a state of unfeeling, and tried to ignore how its loss bothered her. "I only kissed him to get out from under the mistletoe. It seems the spell affects spiritual manifestations as well as the living."

Luna looked at her with those odd, too-blue, soul-searing eyes. "Why shouldn't it? Ghosts, poltergeists and angels are just a different form of life, but you're all just as real as me."

It took Hermione a moment to process that… and another second or two of struggling with herself not to correct the girl and to let that comment pass. This was, after all, Luna the Eccentric. "How are your studies coming along?" she quickly changed topics, and floated alongside her friend all the way to the Ravenclaw Tower, before they parted ways.

**X~~~~~X**

Dashing through wall after wall until, at last, he came to the Entrance Courtyard, Draco ran as far and as fast as he could away from the scene of the crime, as if the hounds of Hell were hot on his heels. He continued along the domed archway until he reached the top of the stairs leading down to the boat docks, and only then paused, looking out over the Black Lake below. Snow covered everything across the horizon, with the only color coming from the dark blue, moving waters and the green of the pines that dotted the landscape as far as the eye could see.

What on Phoebos and Deimos had he been thinking kissing the likes of Hermione Granger - not just once, but twice? Utter madness! He hadn't liked her enough to even consider the possibility of letting their mouths meet when they'd been alive. Hell, even dead, he couldn't stand the bushy-haired, know-it-all - _"Professor Vindictus Viridian did…_ _blah, blah, blah…"_ \- so what had compelled him to touch her, much less lock lips with her?

Oh, that's right, that obnoxious mistletoe.

Right, so it wasn't really his fault at all! He'd just been trying to break the spell so he could get away from her. That was all there'd been to it!

The tactile memory of her soft, warm, incredibly delicious mouth enticed his thoughts again. The residual essence of spearmint and ice tingled his lips, made him unconsciously lick them, bringing his awareness to the fact that he could, in fact, taste something.

For seven months, he'd been unaware of heat or cold, of scent or flavor. There had been no impression of actual touch or taste or smell, only of sight and hearing. Even the façade of sleep he maintained, just to keep in the habits of the living, so he didn't lose his mind, had been difficult to accomplish. Thank Salazar's beard The Grey Lady had taken pity on him and given up the secret of pulling clouds out of the sky above the castle and bringing them down to wherever he sought his rest (she'd also explained how to use them to fashion new clothing, should he wish to change his garments, despite not really needing to, for the dead did not stink with sweat, and neither did their clothing). Yet, under the fervently grasping hands of Gryffindor's Princess, there had been a stirring of every sense, an _explosion_ of color, sound, taste, feeling, and scent. He'd been aware of Granger, and of all the things about them, both living and dead, in a manner he'd never known before.

Considering how that could be possible, he rubbed his fingertips lightly over his buzzing lips, still alive from their earlier contact.

It had been an amazing kiss. Closing his eyes, he visualized those moments again in detail: she'd been so shocked by her actions, and yet so bold in chucking that fear aside, going with the moment. _She'd_ taken _him_ , dragging a response from him that blew his mind. He'd never wanted anyone so much, even when he'd been sporting skin.

Shaking his head, he spit, realizing who he'd just been daydreaming about. Gah! Now he'd need to sanitize his oral cavity and his brain! Wasn't there some kind of ectoplasmic mouthwash he could procure somewhere?

"Hey, mate," Zabini called out, coming up behind him, Nott skimming along at his side. "It's all around school – you kissing Granger. So, spill."

The man had gone through a radical change in the last year. From the Mudblood-hating, darkly-temperamental, brooding soul he'd been, Zabini had morphed into the laid back-type, less concerned about Slytherin politics and scheming. His mum had pulled him out of England in the spring to avoid the war, and being in Italy, sunning on the beach, surrounding by all of those hot-blooded Mediterranean witches had vastly changed his outlook on life.

Nott had remained much the same, though – unassuming, rather quiet - only now he was frequently to be found in Blaise's company, as the two of them often came to call on Draco, who had all the juicy gossip on the girls in school, because of his uncanny ability to snoop and not be seen.

Draco snorted. "Mistletoe," he explained, hoping to make the entire matter disappear.

"Yeah?" Zabini asked, wiping snow from the top of the low-set wall so he could park his arse upon it. "Works on ghosts, too, then?"

"Apparently," Draco dryly replied. "Fucking Viridian."

"Who?"

Rolling his eyes, as if it were the most obviously thing in the world, Draco tsk'd. "Professor Vindictus Viridian. He's the bloke who invented the stuff back in the 1700's. Left it around the castle as a parting 'fuck you,' only everyone thinks it's funny." He smirked arrogantly. "Haven't you read _Hogwarts, A History_ yet?"

"No, and technically, neither have you. Granger told you that, I'll bet," Nott rather perceptively stated, adjusting his glasses over his nose, staring at Draco with amusement.

"Was that before or after you snogged each other senseless?" Blaise poked at the open wound with a shark-like grin. "'Cause the way I heard it, you were on each other like a Ravenclaw on a riddle, bro."

Draco didn't bother replying, his mind taken back once again to that moment when the kiss had changed into something hot and reckless… "I felt it."

"Felt what?" Theo inquired.

Sighing, Draco ran a phantom hand through his hair. "The kiss."

"That good, huh?" Zabini asked, seeming sincere in his curiosity.

Draco shook his head. "No, you don't get it. I didn't think it was possible to feel _anything_ anymore." He looked down at his open hand, flexed it. "I haven't felt a bloody thing since I woke up and found I was like this. Not a breeze, not the change in temperature, not water or stone or cloth. Nothing. It's the same with smell and taste. I can't eat, and I haven't smelled soap or baking bread or even badly burned potions from the first years. I can hear and I can see - that's the extent of it." His brow furrowed as he was troubled by the idea. "Being sensory deprived has been slowly driving me mad. It's only being able to talk to you two that keeps me sane, you know." He sighed, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets and slumping in on himself, embarrassed to admit these truths as they made him vulnerable. "But when Granger kissed me today, I _felt_ it. I tasted it. I smelled her minty breath. She was warm and alive. I didn't realize how much you could miss something as simple as that." Shutting his eyes, he thought that if it were possible for him to cry, he would. He hadn't been able to do so since his change in status. "I would give anything to be able to just feel the world moving. It's only been seven months, but it seems a million years that I've been dead inside."

His companions were silent for several moments, as the ramifications really hit all three of them as to what being a ghost really meant, and what Draco was doomed to suffer as a result of his cowardice when he died, running from death, instead of letting it embrace him.

"So, did you Frenchie her good, at least?" Blaise irreverently asked, a grin crawling up his cheek. "'Cause, you know, I would've. Granger is hot, even dead."

Draco nearly face-vaulted. "Is thinking with your dick your only merit?" he accused.

Zabini shrugged. "You said it yourself: life's all about feeling. What more is there?"

Whoa, now that was a deeply profound thought. The three young wizards let it sit and soak between them as they recognized the wisdom in such simple words.

"Seriously, mate, think about it for a second," Blaise encouraged. "If you can kiss her, maybe you can shag her, too! There's a sexy bod under those clothes, I'm telling you! Just check out the curves! Hell, maybe death's not gonna be quite as bad as you thought."

Theo barked an honest laugh, adjusting his glasses again. "You know, Zabini might be onto something there, Drake - for once in his dull life. You and Granger, well, the two of you were always linked in discussion anyway, being rivals. I have to admit that I heard the speculation sixth year, when you were so secretive. People thought you were seeing each other then, and that's what had you torn up."

Draco groaned.

That did it: Hermione Granger was officially a menace to his reputation and his sanity. He made up his mind to stay away from her from then on.


	2. That Saved A Wretch Like Me

.

__**Twas Grace that taught**  
My heart to fear.  
And Grace, my fears relieved.  
How precious did that Grace appear  
The hour I first believed.

.

**Saturday, December 5th, 1998**

 

 

Hermione was in the Restricted Section of the library after hours, having gotten Madam Pince's allowance to read a book on ghosts and ghostly incantations (Irma had kindly bespelled the book to turn the page upon Hermione's request before the woman retired for the evening), when _he_ appeared next to her between one blink and the next.

Without a word, she was spun about by a firm hand, and Malfoy's lips were on hers again in a searing hot kiss that demanded her participation. Just like last time, it was as if she were free-falling into bliss, the sensation of touch, smell, taste igniting to life from the deadened hollowness that surrounded her daily existence. Compelled to experience it again, she clung to her one-time rival, giving in, kissing back with ardor.

They broke apart slightly only when she realized they were no longer in the library. They weren't even in the castle anymore, having floated right through the outer wall, materializing about in space over the back castle green, arms pulling the other in as tight as possible. Silently, they stared at each other, both breathing hard, as if they still needed oxygen to live.

"You feel it, too, don't you?" she whispered, not wanting to disturb the tranquility about them. In the hushed, icy air, the only other sounds to disrupt the calm were the crackling pines in the distance.

Malfoy nodded, his eyes mesmerized by her lips, his fingers massaging the back of her neck, playing through her long, curly hair. "You're warm, and you taste and smell good. When I touch you or kiss you, it's like being alive again." He leaned in, rubbing his nose against the side of hers, his lips buzzing over hers. "I've been trying all week to recreate this phenomenon with others. No luck. It only works with you."

Hermione blinked, surprised by that admission and leaned away from him. "You've been kissing other people? Other girls, you mean?"

He nonchalantly shrugged. "I can't touch living people, but I _can_ touch ghosts and poltergeists… but there's no sensation whatsoever when I do. I only feel anything when I'm with you."

Jaw literally hanging open with shock, Hermione was taken aback. "But why? I don't understand."

Draco snuggled in close again, stroking his cheek against hers like a cat seeking a good petting and sighing with delight. "Hell if I know, Granger. You're the smart one around here. I'm sure you'll eventually figure it out. But right now - shut up, will you? I need this." He tilted his head and captured her mouth again, kissing with lush, sensual leisure, making a deconstructed disaster of all her arguments as to why they should stop simply by stroking along the ridge of her lips with his tongue. They both groaned when she met him with her own tongue, lapping back with a shared passion.

Holding onto each other, they kissed and kissed for hours – _literally_ \- ignoring the rest of the world, drowning in the pleasure that they brought each other, making up for the months of dulled-out sensation. Instead of being disgusted or frightened by the ease at which she surrendered and enjoyed Draco's attentions, she figured that this way, for a little while, at least she could pretend that she hadn't died and was condemned to an eternity of unhappiness. Yes, it was morally questionable ethics to use Malfoy in such a manner for such a shallow purpose, but for the ability just to fantasize that she was living again even for a moment, Hermione would have given up just about anything.

As the first rays of the sun lifted over the horizon, they were still there, touching, breathing in each other, unwilling to part. It took Hagrid calling out a hearty, "G'morning," to jolt them from their fantasy, to remind them both of who they were to each other, and to force her to abandon the circle of his arms to return to the library to finish the book she'd been reading.

As soon as their fingers parted, however, an ache in her heart took up residence. It was painful, but it was there and she could feel it, so she cherished it right along with the memory of Draco's warm kisses.

* * *

He hadn't meant to go to her again, but it was hard to fight off an obsession when everywhere you turned, there the object of your fixation seemed to be. Draco never had the will to deny himself any pleasure when living (even during the last two years of Hell, he'd still managed to sneak in some wank time, as his seventeen-year old, sexually-awakened body had occasionally demanded of him), and it seemed that need to indulge had not changed simply because his corporeal form had transformed into a misty shade.

His fascination with experiencing senses again after that first kiss under the mistletoe had driven him to try to recreate what he'd felt with anyone and everyone else he could coerce into the experiment over the following two days – an effort, it turn out, that was in vain. When he'd come to the awful conclusion that there didn't seem to be anyone else who set his spirit on fire, he'd _still_ tried to avoid Granger. It had taken him another day after that – and a stern talking to by Zabini and Nott on his stubbornness in the matter - to realize that if he ever wanted to experience any sort of physical feeling again, it was going to have to be with the witch he'd once despised, and to capitulate to the idea. Oh, he'd fought it, told himself every reason why it was a really bad idea, but then he'd seen her floating in front of a window in the second floor corridor the day before, looking out on the world and his resolve had simply melted away.

Slytherin's rod, she'd been a sight! The noontime sun had just peeked through the grey, wintry clouds, and its brilliant light had poured down upon her, bathing her angelic form in luminiferous aether. She'd sparkled with life as sun motes floated through her, and she'd smiled and threw her head back, closing her eyes – imagining, he'd thought, that she could feel the sun's warmth upon her once more.

It struck him then the difference between them: Hermione Granger was as dead as he was, and yet, she didn't wallow in it. She'd gone about for the last seven months doing what she could to adjust, continuing to help others, first with the rebuilding of the castle after the war - she was the one who'd revealed the dangerous crack that leaked water from the lake into the bottom-most levels of the castle's foundation and warned McGonagall about it - and then with aiding teachers with tutoring those students who were academically falling behind. She continued her own education via the Library's offerings, and with Madam Pince's help. She visited a myriad of people, greeting them daily, regularly sitting with her friends at meals or in their common room. And what had he done in that same time? Hidden away in the Slytherin dormitories, or tortured himself by visiting the Astronomy Tower purposefully and reliving that night Dumbledore had fallen, or traveled the corridors at night to relive past glories. He'd thrown himself a right good pity-party, hadn't he?

Last night, he'd followed her to the Library, but had sat outside, floating up near the ceiling, considering what to say to her to win her agreement to let him touch her again. After more than an hour, and no solution that seemed as if it would realistically work presented itself - Hermione wasn't a moron, after all, and wouldn't fall for most of his tricks, as Crabbe and Goyle once had - in a fit of anguish, Draco simply went to her side and took what he'd wanted. Sometimes, he was beginning to understand, the most direct route was the best solution, regardless of what his father's and his Slytherin's training had previously taught him.

Kissing her had been like bathing in sunshine, like being drunk off of the most expensive Reserve Firewhisky, like flying at top speed on his broom while making loop-de-loops. He'd never wanted it to stop.

So lost had he been in his dream with her that Draco hadn't even realized the sun was up, and that they'd been kissing for hours. His lips hadn't seemed to protest the time, and his quickened heart hadn't minded its paces. He'd happily drowned in her essence, and cursed that oaf of a Game Warden for interrupting his version of a blissfully-passed eternity.

Now, though, he looked at that incident and was horrified. Granger was _Granger_ \- his arch-nemesis for years, who was on so many levels worse to get involved with than even Saint Potter or the Weasel would have been. Based on the merits of birth alone, her friends at least ranked in as a half-blood and a pureblood, putting them slightly higher in his esteem. Despite the war's lessons, which had impressed themselves upon him regarding the issue of blood purity, still it was difficult to undo a lifetime of brainwashing that told him that Mudbloods were lesser humans than any other class of people, relegated to the likes of near-animals, like Centaurs or Lycans, and that her 'dirty blood' would infect him if he ever got close enough.

And yet, they weren't alive any longer, were they? That meant the issue of her ancestral purity wasn't even an issue. Dead was dead – there was no blood to contend with any longer. Plus, he'd just spent at least five or six hours floating around with his lips firmly attached to hers, not in the least bit concerned with the issue of phantom contagion. Bluntly, he'd been too enamored to care.

But why did _she_ affect him so? Why only _her_? Did it have something to do with her innate personality? Had she somehow been gifted with abilities normal ghosts didn't have purely based upon her Gryffindor's meritorious heart? Certainly, he'd never met another being like her in all his years, and none of the other ghosts seemed as 'human' as she - although, that could be likened to their long years without sensation making them seem truly dead to the world.

One way or another, he was determined to find out.

* * *

**Sunday, December 6th, 1998**

 

Harry and Ron stared at Hermione as if she'd gone quite mad. Ginny, however, looked fairly intrigued.

"You're joking," Harry stated, not making it a question, though clearly that's how it was meant. "'Mione, tell us you're not serious."

She shrugged. "I don't pretend to understand it, Harry," she admitted. "I'm still trying to determine how it could even be possible. I mean, I knew ghosts could touch, but none of the other ghosts I've asked about the castle understand what's going on between Malfoy and me. They all believe I'm either making it up, or that it's some sort of residual sensation from having so recently died. Although, all of them admit that they've never experienced anything like it themselves after their own deaths, so there's no basis for comparison."

"But _Malfoy?_ " Ron piped in for the hundredth time with the exact same exclamation. He couldn't seem to get past that one glaring fact.

His sister smacked him upside the head on Hermione's behalf.

"Thank you," she offered her best girl friend.

Ginny grinned. "Anytime."

"Can we get back to the part where you think it's a good idea to experiment with kissing… erm, Draco?" Harry asked, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees. "I'm a little fuzzy as to why you think you should keep doing that."

Hermione met her friend's gaze dead-on, and decided honesty really was the best policy. "Because I liked it."

Ron groaned and put his face in his hands. "'Mione, if you wanted to snog, I'd… I mean…" Here he stammered and shook his head. "There have to be better options!"

Glaring at him, she raised a spectral eyebrow. "Like Peeves, perhaps? Or Sir Nicholas? Yes, that whole head-nearly-falling-off party trick is quite the turn-on." She rolled her eyes and growled under her breath. "Listen, it's not as if I asked for any of this nonsense. I didn't _want_ to kiss him that first time, nor did I _want_ to discover that doing so would be something pleasant either. You know how horrid he was to me for years."

"Then stop doing it," Harry insisted, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Looking down at the hands in her folded lap, seated as she was in mid-air, her legs tucked under, Hermione felt her heart sink at his words. "I can't! You have to understand: with him I can _feel_ something. You can't comprehend what it's like not to know the brush of the wind or sun against you, or to remember what being warm felt like after what seems an ice age settling into your bones, or to taste again after so long of not knowing food. I'm sensory deprived here. When he's close, I can smell him, as if he was wearing cologne, and when he holds me, it's like being wrapped up in a blanket of comfort." She pointedly looked at all three of her friends. "I can't smell any of you. I can't touch you either, not ever again. No more hugs."

For the first time since she woke up in this terrible state of being-nonbeing, Hermione bitterly cried. "I'll never grow up, or have children, or age with you now. Even though I'm surrounded by people I know, in a few months, they'll leave this place and move on with their lives. I won't see most of them ever again. And you three… eventually, you're going to have to go on and forget me." They all began to shake their heads, but she overrode them. "Yes, you will! As time passes, and you have your own lives and families to care for, you'll come here less and less. And one day, you'll die, and you'll pass through the Veil. But I'll still be here alone for all eternity."

Her sobs were loud in the empty dining hall, where the three were taking a very late lunch together. "So, you see, Malfoy is all I have. And I think… maybe, I'm all he has, too."

The three were quiet then, as her words struck them, and tears shined on all of their cheeks as they realized their loss again.

* * *

Draco had heard her talking to her friends today, hiding as he was in the Trophy Room stairwell. Strangely, Hermione's words had wounded him.

" _So, you see, Malfoy is all I have. And I think… maybe, I'm all he has, too."_

Maybe she was right, and that's all there was between them – need. After all, that's how he'd explained this mad desire to touch her to his friends, too.

* * *

**Monday, December 7th, 1998**

 

They bumped into each other again as Hermione left Moaning Myrtle's favorite haunt in the second floor girl's loo one evening after curfew, having gone to talk to the ghost about the strange occurrences between she and Draco, and wondering if Myrtle could offer any insight on the situation (she couldn't, unfortunately).

"Oh!" she started, then recognized who it was the instant the warmth of his arms came about her. No one else felt quite like Malfoy. Hesitantly, she glanced up. "Um, hi."

He didn't say anything for the longest time, just stared at her with those assessing, pewter-colored eyes. Just as she was about to push away and move on, his grip tightened and his head lowered. "Hi," he offered back in a low murmur as his lips touched down upon hers.

His kiss this time was soft, tentative, pulling away and dipping back in as if testing, over and over. When his tongue stroked her bottom lip, coaxing it to part, she allowed her jaw to go slack, and the kiss deepened. A rumble ran through his chest and his arms drew her in closer, causing an instant reaction from her in the tightening of her body.

"Don't stop," she implored as he slightly pulled up, breaking the kiss. Her fingers tightened their grip on the lapels of his robes, trying to keep him from drifting away.

The hand that had cupped the back of her head slid around her throat and stroked the flesh of her cheek. He was trembling, she realized, as the pads of his fingers caressed her spectral skin. His breath was a soft, warm pant against her face. His gaze… Liquid mercury roamed every inch of her countenance. He followed the path with his hand, tracing an innocently seductive trail across her forehead, down her nose, over her lips. "How are you doing this to me?" he murmured, his tone a mixture of confusion, excitement, anger. "Why you?"

Stretching her hand over the contours of his chest, up his throat to feather his cheek, she felt his warmth steal into her, sinking deep into her ghostly bones, returning the sensation of life to every nerve in her body. "I don't know. Why _you?_ " she countered.

Malfoy shook his head, clearly as baffled by the riddle as she. "Don't know. I want to kiss you again, though," he admitted.

Licking her lips, she swallowed back her nervousness. "I want to kiss you, too. Is that much too strange?"

"Probably," he grumbled and dipped forward in a rush, as if called to reclaim her mouth, acting wholly on instinct.

Rushing need pounded through her, making Hermione want to crawl through him, meld them together as one being… and making her all too aware in that instant how truly dangerous Draco Malfoy was to her sanity.

* * *

It was like soaring through the stars, this feeling that erupted through him as he kissed Granger. Draco never wanted it to end. Happily, he could stand here for the rest of forever and do this with her, he thought.

She tasted of that enticing mint-chocolate combination that beckoned him to dip his tongue right in and lap. Sugar and ice tingled through his system. Savoring the decadent flavors, he moaned, pulling at her until they were unable to get any closer without climbing into each other. In his trousers, his cock throbbed hard and ready.

How was any of this possible?

She rubbed against him, oh-so-innocently, and his arousal jerked. A fiery lava boiled through his testes, tightening them up into his body.

Oh, who fucking _cared_ why any of this was happening? The fact of the matter was: she was here, and she was willing - so very, _very_ willing.

His hands gripped the firm globes of her arse and pulled her hard against his erection. Rubbing up and down through the vee of her thighs, he sneakily bunched the fabric of her skirt up at the same time. When it became apparent that she wasn't going to deny him his exploration, he grew bold and actually gripped the hem of the garment and yanked it up over her hips. Looking over her shoulder and down the length of her body in that same instant, he caught the flash of pastel blue knickers before he grabbed her bottom again and hauled her in tight. This time, he could actually feel her outline, knew right where the seam of her lower lips was as he ground into her.

Stiffening against him, she tried to pull back. " _That_ shouldn't be possible," she denied his erection, trying to put distance between their pelvises. "I've been reading-"

Draco growled against her lips. "Granger, hush and go with it." He jerked his hips, rasping his pelvis against hers.

"Oh, God!" she keened as he clipped her just right on the upwards thrust. "Oh, _oooh_! No, no, no, we shouldn't…"

"Should," he argued around tonguing her with blatant sexual desire. Sliding under one smooth, slim thigh, he pulled her leg up and around him, adjusting the angle just right for maximum pleasure for them both. "I want in you," he heatedly stipulated, surging against her again, making her head fall back in ecstasy. "Let me in you, Granger."

"No, we can't!" she insisted, forcing her leg down, trying to push him away. "This is a bad idea, Malfoy. _Really_ bad."

Draco ignored her denial, refusing to let her go. Need slammed through his system, making his spectral heart relentlessly pound against the underside of his spectral ribs. Changing his assault method on the fly to try to win her surrender, he reclaimed her lips with a heated snog and simultaneously glided his hands up her waist to cup her breasts.

Slytherin's boots, how had she hid these perfect-sized mounds of soft flesh for so many years? Why hadn't he noticed them before?

In some whacked-out version of the truth, it seemed to Draco as though he'd never really known Hermione Granger at all, and was just now discovering her for the first time.

* * *

They both gasped as he tweaked her nipples through her blouse, as if the sensation were passing from her into him and back, a looping chain of pleasure to share. Brazenly, she slid her hands down his chest, mirroring his movements.

Merlin, he was rather solid! As her fingers danced over his narrow waist and hips, she realized that he had the type of build she was innately attracted to: sleek, designed for speed, with long limbs and a well-defined musculature. Why hadn't she ever noticed how nicely shaped he was before?

"Shit, how big are your tits?" he gasped around their greedy, feasting lips, massaging her breasts over her shirt.

"32-C," she murmured, too busy with her own exploration to feel any sort of embarrassment over divulging such a personal fact.

Groaning, his hands dipped down until they were under her clothing, touching her bare abdomen, roaming up her ribs. Hastily yanking her bra down, his hands finally touched her naked breasts – a place no man had touched her so intimately before. Her reaction was instantaneous: she tightened up hard, her nipples going taut, and jerked forward. A loud, lusty moan unwittingly escaped her lips.

"Bloody hell," he swore, plucking at her tiny buds with teasing pulls. "They feel perfect. How did you manage to hide these for so long?"

Gasping again as he pulled a little harder than she'd expected, she tilted her head back again and let him nibble on her throat. "Muggle lingerie, designed to support, not for vanity."

His chuckle against her pounding pulse was dark, sinful, and made things between her legs moisten. "How very practical of you, Granger." He hummed against her throat, the vibration traveling down her spine, making everything shake with need. "Tell me: where do you rest at nights?" he asked, placing small kisses up and down her jaw.

"The old Head Girl's dorm on the fifth floor, across from the Prefect's Bath," she sighed, tilting her head to give him access. "McGonagall gave it to me. Why?"

Thumbing over her nipples again, making them ache for more, he nuzzled her throat. "Can we go there?" He bit her rather possessively at the bend of her neck. "I want you, and I'd rather not have an audience."

Now she'd done it: they were actually talking about having sex.

"Ummm, w-wait a s-second," she stammered, trying to regain a smidge of common sense, to pull back from this firestorm before it consumed her. How the heck had she gotten into this predicament?

His mouth ghosted over the shell of her ear, even as one of his hands slipped down between her legs and caressed her over her clothing. "I want to bury my mouth right here." He slipped one finger through her seam, and it was apparent to both of them just how damp her knickers had become over the last few minutes. He licked her earlobe once, teasing it. "I want to taste your come on my tongue, Granger."

And _that_ offer is what brought everything to a screeching halt.

Forcibly pulling away, Hermione pushed his hands out from under her shirt and skirt both, and floated several feet back, out of reach. As she righted her cloud-weaved clothing with quaking hands, heat bloomed in the apples of her cheeks – that despite the distance between them and the loss of his warmth to keep her spirit's body 'alive.'

Almighty rod and staff, what a naïve fool she was to have allowed things to get so far, so fast! Right that second, she was betting that Draco was thinking the same thing as well. He was most likely snickering under his breath at what an easy mark she'd proven herself to be, too.

Glancing from the corner of her eye to check, she noted that her companion was oddly silent and still. He stared at her with those fathomless, steely eyes, his face giving nothing away, seemingly unconcerned that he'd just blatantly propositioned her for oral sex, as she obviously struggled to compose herself.

Biting back her mounting anger – at herself and at him – she counted to ten before addressing him. "Malfoy, I'd like to… I'm…" she tried to explain her jumbled thoughts while meeting his unnervingly calm gaze. It was extremely difficult to adequately convey her feelings in a proper fashion however, no matter the extra time she'd given herself, as this situation was so thoroughly unprecedented in her experience that it utterly discombobulated her. "That is to say, I… well, I've never…"

Godric's bane, she couldn't spit it out, too embarrassed in that moment to admit the truth.

"You're a virgin," he stated with understanding. There was no triumph or ridicule in his tone, much to her surprise.

Shyly nodding, she confirmed her sexual status for him in mortified dismay, wanting right that second to sink into the stone floor for the next century so she wouldn't have to look him in the eye anytime soon. "I just never got around to it before. I thought there would be plenty of time, you see."

Sighing, she wondered how it was that she could be having this kind of discussion with Draco Malfoy, of all people.

Well, shoot, she'd gone this far; she might as well go all the way into the confessional, right? That's what her father had been so fond of saying, anyway. "Before you, I'd kissed a few times. Nothing like how we kissed, I mean - just small pecks, really. That was the extent of it, though." Peeking through her lashes, she risked a quick look at him. "You?"

He was calm as he silently considered her rejection of his advances and the admittance of her virtue for long minutes, his thoughts his own.

Once again, Hermione cursed her lack of forethought in not learning Legilimency when she'd had the chance - not that it would do her much good, as she couldn't cast spells. The electrical energy that fueled her magical aura had died out with her body.

Disgruntled by that reminder, she stood waiting for his response in silence, feeling the seconds tick by. Forty-two heartbeats later, her embarrassment reached its summit. For Heaven's sake, the degree of his sexual prowess was not a conversation she'd ever dreamed of having with Slytherin's reptilian Prince!

She opened her mouth to tell her companion something to that exact effect, when his flat expression abruptly changed.

He smirked.

Hermione tsk'd. Merlin's great white merkin, he wasn't going to give this situation the proper seriousness it deserved, was he?

"Before I snuffed it, I was a seventeen-year old, relatively healthy male, Granger. What do you think I did in my spare time?"

Rolling her eyes, she knew how the rest of this game played out, having perfected this role over the years each time they'd had a confrontation. "I don't know, Malfoy, maybe plotted with a Dark Lord or two?"

His smirk blossomed into a canary-eating grin. "Aside from that, obviously."

"How about trip me and my friends up? Cause us the most humiliation possible with the minimum amount of required effort?" she snarked, raising an eyebrow, actually enjoying this type of banter between them for once.

"And that," he added, his grin taking up the majority of space on his ferrety-face now.

Her eyes narrowed in mocking amusement. "Wanked often, I'd guess, in the loneliness of your cold, serpent's lair in the dungeon."

He chortled and shook his head, leering. "If you agree to accompany me there now, you could find out for yourself whether such a scandalous supposition is true or not, you know."

Huffing, pulling the mantle of self-righteousness over her shoulders, Hermione stuck her nose in the air and disdainfully sniffed, floating away towards the Grand Staircase at the same time. "No, thanks,'" she excused with a negligent wave over her shoulder. "The brief, lackluster show wouldn't be worth the admission's fee, I'm sure."

She beat a hasty retreat to her room to avoid any further temptation, his laughter ringing out behind her.

Well, at least things between them hadn't gone quite as terrible as they could have. In fact, that last part had been almost as fun as the snogging bit!

* * *

_Alright then, let the games begin_ , Draco thought with some amusement as he hurriedly headed off to his 'cold, serpent's lair' in the Slytherin dungeon to sit upon his cloud in his private room and contemplate the night's events alone…

…all the while stroking his quickly cooling erection as he recalled the delicious memories of Hermione Granger's mewling cries in his ear, the taste of her luscious lips and tongue, and the feel of her soft nipples and soaking wet knickers - just as she'd conjectured.


	3. I Once Was Lost

.

__**Through many dangers, toils and snares**  
We have already come.  
'Twas Grace that brought us safe thus far,  
And Grace will lead us home.

.

**Thursday, December 10th, 1998**

 

 

"This," Hermione gasped, pulling back from Draco's assailing lips, "is fast approaching madness."

Thank Circe he'd dragged her out to the Quidditch Pitch in the middle of the night; they could be as loud as they wanted here and at this time, with no one the wiser.

Draco nodded. "I know. But it feels so _bloody_ good." His mouth attacked again and again, even as he talked between pulls of his lips and laps of his tongue. "I've been craving you for the last three days – craving this." His hands gripped her bottom, pulling her tight against him. To her utter shock, he was stiff again with arousal. Draco grunted. "Stay with me tonight," he requested, his hot breath blasting against her ear. "I'm in the Slytherin dorms – an empty wing."

Resting her forehead on his shoulder, Hermione shuddered, trying to regain some common sense. This was Draco Malfoy. Nothing had changed between them, had it? "I don't know," she hesitated. "I'm not sure I'm ready to go further than this."

He nipped her lobe, making her shiver. "I have a huge cloud we can lay on," he coaxed. "A cumulus. Just captured it yesterday. It's made of the softest vapor."

Hmmm. That did sound awfully intriguing.

"How big?" she tentatively asked.

His left hand stroked the bare skin of her spine up and down, as his mouth trailed a path of fiery sensation down her throat. "I swear, you could talk the hind legs off a donkey, Granger. Just know that it's big enough for you to lay out on in any direction and sink into, if you want."

Oooh, boy, now that was _truly_ tempting.

She gave seriously consideration to his offer. One, he would be providing her with a soft cloud on which to slumber. Two, the cloud she'd previously trapped for her private use was beginning to develop uncomfortable lumps. Three, with the winter skies as bleak as they'd been lately, there hadn't been much in the way of good cloud cover to choose from to replace the one in her room. She doubted she'd be able to find, much less capture, a cumulus of her own any time soon. Four, she'd get the chance to spend some quality smooch time alone with Draco – and Merlin, the things he could do with his lips! Not only would she most likely enjoy it, but snogging out with him would allow her to keep her body warm and 'alive' a little longer.

Her resistance slipped and her decision swayed in favor of the slippery Slytherin's cleverly prepared argument.

"Malfoy, are you sure this is a good idea?" she tried to give them both a last out with the cold, hard truth, even as she tilted her head back, allowing him free access to suckle above the point where her pulse was pounding, causing little, electric shivers to race up and down her frame. "I mean, you and I - we haven't exactly gotten along until recently, and mostly, that's because we're too busy doing this to fight."

He sighed, and stopped his attempts at seduction, instead drawing her closer and hugging her. "Just come and stay with me tonight! We don't have to do anything you don't want. I just need to be near you. I... I've missed touching you." He cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed by the confession.

Truthfully, she needed to be near him, too. Having discovered over the past several months that all ghosts could still fall into what could be equated to as a state of sleep when they wished it, her dreams of late during such periods had been plagued with arousing memories of what she and Malfoy had done on Monday night – which only managed to increase her curiosity about experiencing human sexuality in all its naked glory. What would it be like to make love? How would it feel to have a man lying atop her, their parts intimately connected, with him thrusting in and out of her as they looked into each other's eyes? Would she like it or would it be awkward? Would Draco know how to pleasure her correctly, or would they have to fumble through it to find what worked and didn't for each of them? She'd read plenty of books on the subject and had listened to the giggling retellings of her former roommates' experiences in Gryffindor Tower, but would any of that adequately convey the reality of sex or was it something she could only understand once she'd actually done it? Her inquisitive side was burning to know the truth of the matter.

For the last several days, she'd surreptitiously kept an eye out for Hogwarts' Platinum Prince as the ridiculously irrational, adventuresome part of her personality hoped that there'd be some sort of romantic, clandestine moment where they'd end up alone once more and could pick up where they'd left off. It was a ridiculously fanciful illusion, she knew, but there was no denying that a part of her - the small, irrational, girly part - had always longed to be swept off her feet by a handsome young man. A long time ago, she'd wanted that person to be Ron, but as she'd learned over the last seven months, when life threw lemons at you, you either made lemonade from them or soured alongside them. That starry-eyed part of her that wished for more out of her life - or in this case, her death - thought that tonight might very well be her best and last chance at a happily ever after.

Oh, goodness, was she really going to do this?

Yes, apparently, she was. She'd have to insist that they take it slow, though, remembering the old adage: "men trade love for sex, and women trade sex for love." The last thing she wanted was for Malfoy to get the impression that she was to be easily used and tossed aside. A bad break-up would, literally, haunt her for eternity in their case, as there was nowhere either of them could go to escape the other, spiritually chained as they both were to the castle grounds.

"Alright, but… umm, no sex yet. Just holding each other," she compromised. "I'm still not sure I want this to continue between us. It's nice, but I need to trust you first."

Her partner took a deep breath, and let it out in slow increments. With a quick jerk, he righted her jumper and dropped his hands, letting them rest on her waist instead. "Agreed, but you stay all night with me," he countered. "And you let me hold you - and kiss you."

That didn't seem such a terrible concession. After all, it wasn't as if they hadn't already done that much or that she didn't thoroughly enjoy his attentions.

"Agreed."

He held her hand all the way back into and through the castle, and down to his assigned room.

As they phased through the door, she got her first good look at his cloud. It _was_ huge, taking up nearly the whole space of the room. Internally giggling about the size of a man's "toys" reflecting his need to compensate for "smaller parts" elsewhere, she instead distracted herself by hopping right up onto the fluffy white force of nature, bouncing about on her knees. Oooh, it was so very soft, just as he'd promised! "Who taught you about this anyway – the clouds, I mean?" she asked, climbing into the center and kicking her spectral shoes off onto one end out of habit.

"The Grey Lady," he admitted, doing likewise, as well as stripping off his jacket and shirt, laying them on the end, near their shoes.

When his pale chest came into view, Hermione couldn't help her reaction: she stared in an open-mouthed daze at the perfection revealed. The only bit to mar his beauty was a series of three lined scars across the width of his torso. It took her a moment to realize that they were the marks that Harry's irresponsible _Sectumsempra_ curse had left behind.

"Keep up the gawking and I'll go back on my word, Granger," he growled, noting her hot stare.

Forcing her attention away, she found a comfortable position on her side, her back to him, and let Malfoy spoon in behind her. His arm over her waist and under her head cradled her close to his warmth, while his knee thrust between her two legs to properly support her spine. He moved with confidence; clearly, he'd done this exact thing with someone else in the past.

"So, do you and The Grey Lady often talk?" she hedged, her curiosity piqued.

His nose and lips began traveling over her throat again, even as his hand around her waist ducked under her jumper and rested on her belly. "Do I detect a note of jealousy?"

She snorted at such a preposterous suggestion.

It was quiet between them for a bit, as he nuzzled her hairline and sighed with contentment.

"Well, do you?" she finally demanded, her need to know egging her on. "Talk to Helena Ravenclaw often, I mean?"

His chuckle against her skin made her shiver. "Do we _talk_? No, not often," he teased.

The insinuation was blatant. "I thought you said you couldn't feel anything with anyone else?"

He shrugged. "I can't."

This was becoming a frustrating conversation. "Then why would you be snogging her?"

He laughed. "You are jealous!"

Elbowing him in the guts, hearing his "oof!" in response wasn't nearly satisfying enough, she thought. "Hardly. I'm merely trying to determine our situation by considering all of the facts. If you can feel something with her, then it only seems logical that I might be able to do so as well with another ghost, too - perhaps even The Bloody Baron. He and I _are_ friends, after all, and he _is_ rather handsome and tragically melancholic-"

Being flipped onto her back and having her mouth claimed with an overwhelming, sultry kiss was enough to shut down that line of reasoning for a while. When they both came up for air – metaphorically speaking – Malfoy was staring down at her with an emotion that was dark and bitter stamped across his face. "No kissing anyone else," he possessively commanded.

It took her three blinks and two false starts to ask her question. "Why not? You just said you were-"

His face bent to hers, their foreheads pressed together, and he stared her down with those steel-gray eyes, repeating each word succinctly and with finality. "No. Kissing. Anyone. Else."

"But how can we determine if this feeling exists outside of what we have?" she tried to rationally argue the case. "If there's a chance for either of us to find happiness elsewhere, where we're better suited to another-"

"Stone the crows, leave off, Granger!"

He crushingly claimed her mouth around a growl, and this time, he didn't let up for a long while. By then, Hermione had forgotten all about their discussion, her heart and mind whirling with the sensations of being under Draco's hard, eager body, and of his lips passionately claiming hers.

* * *

Images of Hermione kissing The Bloody Baron – one of Draco's long-ago ancestors on his mother's side – turned his stomach inside-out and made his irrational jealousy climb into the stratosphere.

_Handsome and tragically melancholic - feh!_

That wanking progenitor of his better keep his hands off of Hermione Granger, or he'd find those chains a might uncomfortably noosed around his throat. Of that, Draco made a personal promise.

* * *

**Sunday, December 13th, 1998**

 

This time, Malfoy tackled her in the third floor hallway, in direct line of sight of anyone who'd happen along. One minute, Hermione had been floating along, leaving the Transfiguration corridor to head on up a level to the library, when he simply appeared through a wall, ambushing her as if he'd been waiting for her to float by.

"Gotcha," he growled right before his mouth slammed down on hers, and his arms came around her to pin her to his chest. He was hot for her, ruthless in his claiming of her lips for his own.

Salvaging a modicum of pride this time, Hermione manage to let out at least an objecting, muffled, _"hmmmph,"_ before giving in. Gripping his lapels tight, she kissed back with reckless need, her cold, deadened body coming to life in an instant under his attentions.

"You taste like icy chocolate mint," he admitted as he pulled away, only to come back in for more, as if he couldn't bear to be parted. "My favourite."

Her hands wormed their way up over his chest, around his neck. "You're spiced morning tea to me," she sighed. "My favourite, too."

There wasn't anything more to say for a very long time as they hovered there in the middle of the causeway, students passing around them as the hour bell chimed and classes changed over. Neither of them concerned about the gawking or gossip they'd engendered, content to stay right there for the rest of forever… that was, until Neville Longbottom accidentally walked right through them, jolting them into awareness with his apology.

"Sorry, 'Mione!" her friend assured with regret. "I didn't see you. I… _Malfoy?_ "

The world went cold when her companion pulled away quickly and departed through the floor without a word. Realizing where she was, what she'd been doing, and who had witnessed it, Hermione groaned and hid her face in her hands. "Hi, Neville."

Shy, gentle Neville – the boy who had slain Nagini and fought bravely in the face of evil – simply smiled a lopsided grin at her. "So, it's true then: you and Malfoy?"

She sighed, feeling anxiety creep up her spine. "It's hard to explain."

Her fellow Gryffindor shifted his satchel on his shoulder and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. "Ginny already did a few days ago at breakfast. She told us all to accept it and not say anything negative. And, you know what, 'Mione? Everyone understands."

Peeking through her fingers, she looked at the wizard across from her. He'd grown-up so much since the end of the war. "Really?"

He nodded, his smile reassuring. "Really."

Feeling a load removed from her shoulders, she dropped her hands. Giving her friend a self-conscious smile, she nodded back. "Thanks, Neville."

They turned together, and she accompanied him down the hall to the stairs and off to his next class in the greenhouses with Professor Sprout.

* * *

He'd thought to make a quick rendezvous, sneaking a hot snog in before the lunchtime bell, but as typical when dealing with Granger, nothing was ever simple or brief. Her flavour intoxicated him, her warmth called to him, her scented breath drove him wild, and in no time, he'd forgotten all about where he was or what he was doing. It had taken Longbottom's bumbling to remind him. The fool had made  _him_ feel foolish for acting the part of the pathetically besotted, thunderously jealous Romeo.

Retreating to his cloud in his room, he sat and considered his situation.

Fuck all, he hated to admit it, but he hadn't been able to stop obsessively thinking of Hermione Granger since their first kiss. And thanks to their continual contact, he'd discovered that it was still possible to orgasm so long as he did it soon after leaving her presence and before the warmth left his body, leaving his "little friend" limp again. Although nothing had spurted out of him each time he'd touched himself, he'd still felt the same rushing pleasure of release as he would have had he been alive – which was fan- _fucking_ -tastic, as far as he was concerned as there was no mess to clean up.

Despite that obviously enjoyable perk, though, he was bothered by the fact that visions of the witch in question relentlessly pursued him into the realm of dreams. Over and over, every night he lay his head down on his cloud (except the one night she'd lain next to him, as that was the first night he'd actually felt any semblance of a solid rest), he saw flashes of their past encroach upon his restfulness. They always began the same, focusing on life just minutes before the end: her wand trained on his nose, her arguing with him about getting to safety during the final battle, her hard shove as she pushed him out of the way of the Killing Curse. They would then evolve to include the events of their afterlife – specifically, the last couple of weeks: her hauling him forward by his lapels to steal their first kiss to break the spell of the magical, meddling mistletoe, her spiritual form bathed in sun motes as she threw her head back and phantom enjoyed the brilliance of the daylight, her shy hello to him that night they'd bumped into each other in the corridor and he'd told himself that he would only claim one more kiss and then never again, him waking up a few mornings ago with her wrapped in his arms, cocooned in his embrace, her soft cheek resting upon his bare chest and a feel of contentment stealing over his warm body.

Shite, even as the heat was leaving him now, returning him to a state of emptiness, his cock was vainly struggling to go erect just thinking about her! What was happening to him, and why? He kept wondering how he had become so quickly obsessed with someone like "Iron Knickers" Granger, the bookworm of Hogwarts, Miss "Snow-White Virgin" with the pastel blue knickers and the perfect-sized tits...

Holy Hell, but those had been some seriously responsive nipples! And he'd been the first and only to touch them, too! She'd actually _let_ him cop a feel under her clothing.

His penis gave a valiant, last-second rally at the memory before numbness set in, entirely killing all chances for more.

Bloody _wanking_ hell, if this thing with Gryffindor's Princess continued, he knew well enough to admit he'd most likely end up having actual feelings for her. Truthfully, he was already beginning to - deep ones that caused him to think and act irrationally jealous anytime he saw her talking to a bloke, _especially_ The Bloody Baron. That seriously bothered him. His friends might be encouraging his exploration of her body, and his libido might be seconding that nomination, but his mind told him that this was a dangerous game he was playing at, because once one-sided feelings were brought into a situation, it never ended well for the party with the emotions. And since he would be the one with his heart on his sleeve in this relationship, it would be him getting squashed… _again_.

He'd been played hard once; not by Pansy, as most everyone had suspected simply because they'd messed around a few times in fourth year, but by Julie Parkes, the girl he'd secretly fancied all through fifth year - that was, before his father had been hauled off to Azkaban and he'd spent the remainder of his days living in fear. He and Jules hadn't gotten together until October in their sixth year, but by then, he'd been over the moon for her. She'd been very pretty and rather enjoyable to talk to, and as he'd discovered when he'd lost his virginity to her that November afternoon everyone was too busy watching the Gryffindors win at Quidditch to pay attention to who was coming and going through his common room entrance, they'd been a good sexual fit. That she was a pureblood to boot had been icing on the cake. He'd considered asking her to be his girl, but somehow had never quite gotten the words past his teeth.

Their hot, reckless shag-fest had come to an abrupt end just three weeks later, when he'd been so wrapped up in trying to fix that cock-sucking Vanishing Cabinet and come up with another plan to get at Dumbledore that he hadn't even noticed when Michael Corner swooped down and took Parkes' interest away with a cheap box of chocolates. To say he'd been crushed would be a poor description for Draco's feelings then. That massive ego hit, coupled with the stress of trying to fulfill the Dark Lord's commands… Well, he'd been a right mess the rest of that term and into the next.

He'd avoided getting entangled with anyone else after that, too busy fearing for his life for the remainder of the war. After he'd died and had come to terms with his "new state of living," he'd resigned himself to the idea that he'd be alone for the rest of forever.

But with Granger, he didn't have to be. He could have her, if he wanted. She'd been extremely receptive to him so far, and even if she was using him merely to enjoy the sensations that the living took for granted, it felt bloody good being with her.

And therein lay the problem.

Forgetting the issue of wanting her for the sensations she evoked in his deadened world, he had to admit that feeling something more than just a physical response for her might not be a good idea. She was already taking over too much of his afterlife, as she was never far from his mind. Like an infatuated fool, his eyes searched for her everywhere, and he purposefully went out of his way to cross paths with her. He knew he was setting himself up for a big fall if things kept on the way they were. Craving Granger in the same manner as he had once pined for Julie was guaranteed to leave him on the wrong side of a relationship again.

Today's events in the third floor corridor had been his wake-up call. He should get out now before he dug too deep a grave to escape!

* * *

**Monday, December 14th, 1998**

 

This time, Hermione took the initiative and bushwhacked Malfoy on the Entrance Tower balcony. He'd been looking out over the landscape, apparently lost in thought, so she took full advantage. Dropping down directly in front of him, she flung her arms about his neck and latched onto his mouth with joyful ferocity.

"Hi," she shyly managed after pulling back, noting he wasn't participating with the same fervour as he'd previously shown. "Thought I'd surprise you this time."

Grey, fathomless eyes measured her in silence for long seconds. "What do you think is going on here, Granger?"

She pulled back, not liking the harsh tone and firm set to his features. "I-I was… well, I was taking the initiative and kissing you. You seemed to like doing it before." Pulling away, she floated so that she "stood" on the other side of the railing, hanging above the ground. Being dead and not having to worry about a little, pesky thing called gravity had cured her of her phobia of falling and heights right quick. "Not so keen anymore now that the secret's out, though?"

He said nothing, simply evaluated her from head to toe. His disapproving gaze told her all she needed to know.

"I see," she stated, her heart sinking in her chest. "I was just a passing fancy, then. Nothing's truly changed for you, has it? The war and the fact that it killed you didn't make a dent in that stupid prejudice you carry around, did it?" She lifted her chin, refusing to let him see the extent of emotional injury he'd caused by this rejection. Shoring up her defenses, she pettily bit back, wanting to hurt him for how he was hurting her. "Well, then, perhaps I'll just follow your lead and turn my attentions elsewhere, to more congenial, agreeable company." She hovered back several more feet, struggling to keep her tears at bay. "Very well. Have a nice afterlife, Malfoy – one as alone and unfeeling as you seem to prefer."

Dropping down, she hurried away, heading back through the large double doors of the Entrance Hall, up the Grand Staircase to the fifth floor, where she promptly headed into her room. She threw her head down on her cloud, at first punching at it in frustration, and then sobbing into it as the truth finally struck her: she'd been falling for him, hadn't she? She'd actually been crushing hard on the likes of Draco Malfoy! It wouldn't hurt like this if she hadn't. And she did intimately recognize the symptoms; it felt the same as the time she'd seen Ron and Lavender kiss back in sixth year – like a big, gaping abyss had opened up inside her chest and she wanted it to swallow her whole.

How pathetic was it that she'd let herself cry over the likes of Slytherin's Prince, the boy who had spent his entire youth tormenting her and her friends? Why she'd died for him now seemed stupid and wasteful, as nothing about his attitude had really altered. He might be a little less hateful now, but that was only because she'd been giving a little bit of "it" up to him in secret. Now that everyone knew they'd been seeing each other - that he'd been kissing a Mudblood (gods, she _hated_ that word!), it was entirely a different matter, and he was back to being a cruel git.

Well, forget that! She wasn't going to let him destroy her a second time. He may have been partly responsible for the loss of her life, but she wasn't going to let him take the acclaim for ruining her _after_ life.

Gathering her courage and pride, she wiped the tears from her spectral cheeks and left her room, intending on finding The Bloody Baron and striking up a conversation. From there, who knew? She'd leave it in fate's hands.

* * *

There wasn't much in the cosmos that Draco felt the pangs of guilt about; he could count the instances on one hand, in fact. Three of those five instances involved Hermione Granger. Taking the Dark Mark and Dumbledore's death were certainly at the top of the list, but not helping Granger while under his Aunt Bella's torture, and her dying for him were right underneath. Now he could add turning her interest away in such a deliberately cruel fashion to the list.

His gut reaction was to go after her, but he forced his feet to hold position. With a vicious mental kick he reminded himself that she was _just_ a Mudblood, and that she was still a bossy bint even in death, and that her bushy-haired, know-it-all self was positively too annoying to deal with on a daily basis anyway. Rationalizing his feelings didn't really help stave off the regret, but it did firm up his resolve not to leap over the balcony and phase quickly through the walls of the castle looking for her like a soft sop and apologizing at her feet.

For the third time in his life, Draco shut his eyes and forced his heart not to care about Hermione Granger. He obliged his mind not to hunger for the wonderful things she alone seemed capable of making him feel - not just physically, but emotionally - and not to give another thought to the tears he'd seen gathering in her eyes right before she'd dropped away.

It took an hour for his calm to be restored, for his heart beat to fade away into the void once more, and when he opened his lids to look out on the world again, everything seemed just a little bit greyer and lifeless, even for a ghost.


	4. But Now Am Found

.

_**The Lord has promised good to me.**_  
_**His word my hope secures.**_  
_**He will my shield and portion be,**_  
_**As long as life endures.**_

.

**Tuesday, December 15th, 1998**

 

Hermione made her way through the castle that morning with her head held high and a fresh ambition in her heart, determined not to dwell on Malfoy's hurtful rejection the day before. When she found her quarry – The Bloody Baron, hanging about the Entrance Hall, near the stairs to the dungeon – she meandered up to him and struck up a friendly conversation. They'd spoken several times since her death, and once even when she'd been alive, but that morning's talk was probably the longest conversation she'd ever held with him, as he was known to be rather tight-lipped and ill-company in general, his mood usually morose.

As they chatted, she'd actually managed to coax him into floating alongside her about the Grand Staircase and up to the seventh floor, to the Gryffindor common room. They glided along together, hardly giving any thought to the students passing around them, or the portraits or other ghosts watching them with piqued curiosity, her doing the lion's share of the talking.

She had just finished a rather informative dissertation on the popular music culture of twentieth-century England for him, when he stopped short just outside their final destination and gaped at her, clearly flustered. " _The_ _Spice Girls_?" he asked with interest, that sexy, lightly accented voice of his thrilling her. "A successful band of minstrels that are all women and who have more money than the ruler of England - with a name as ridiculous as _that_? Surely, you jest?"

She assured him she did not.

The Baron's love of all things musical was a secret that Hermione had discovered quite by accident one day a few months back when she'd covertly spied him in the library reading over a book on the subject - with the help of Madam Pince's page-turning spell, of course. Using that knowledge to her advantage today, she'd actually managed to capture his interest, a feat none had managed in centuries, as far as she knew from rumor.

He looked about with curiosity, as if just then recognizing how far he'd strayed from the dungeon, his regular haunt. "Might I inquire as to why we have come _here_ , my lady?" he finally asked the important question, placing his hands behind his back and staring at her in anticipation.

It occurred to Hermione just then that the odd lilt to his speech was a result of the fact that The Baron wasn't speaking his native tongue. The language of his birth, Anglo-Saxon, may have been one of the direct predecessors of modern-day English, but it was now an extinct language, and as different from English as English was to Latin. His exotic accent, she noted with delight, gave his already husky voice an alluring inflection.

_Focus_ , she berated herself. She'd managed to actually snag his attention, and didn't want to lose it, afraid that if she did, there wouldn't be a second chance.

"Offering you proof," she smiled, giving him a playful wink. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

Rushing up the girls' side of the dormitory entrance, she hurried to Ginny's room. Her best friend should still be here, as her first class of the day didn't start for another hour, and the girl enjoyed lazing about her bed until the last possible minute. Zipping about, Hermione found the witch's door, phased through to an apparently empty room, but stuck her head through her friend's closed bed curtains anyway.

"Girl emergency!" she shouted, relieved to spy a lump under her friend's covers. "Gin, wake up!"

To her utter shock, Harry's head popped above the covers. His hair was in even greater disarray than usual, his emerald eyes wide with fright. He was bare-chested.

"Merlin Almighty!" he panted, clearly having been startled. "You nearly made my heart explode!"

It took her two seconds of assessing him before she decided to take advantage of the situation. With a knowing smirk, she raised an eyebrow. "I certainly hope you used a Silencing Charm around the bed last night. It's tacky not to. Oh, and nice nipple piercing, by the way," she drawled with a chuckle. "Go, you rebel."

Her girlfriend's giggle came first, and then a mussed shock of crimson hair popped up beside Harry. "Like it?" Ginny asked. "A month ago, Bill took us to the same guy who did _his_ piercings. Look, we match!" She dropped the coverlet from her chest and, lo and behold, she did in fact match Harry.

"Gin!" he gasped, clearly scandalized, moving to cover her naked breasts.

Hermione gave him a wry look. "Harry, Ginny and I lived in the same dormitory for years, and shared the same bedroom at The Burrow and Grimmauld Place. We've seen each other naked before."

He threw his hands up in defeat. "Why are you here anyway?" he tsk'd, and folded his muscular arms over his chest, giving up the attempt to give his witch some modicum of modesty.

She turned her attention to her ginger-haired BFF. "Do you still have that Muggle magazine you showed me at start of term? The one you smuggled into your trunk when your mum wasn't looking?" Ginny nodded. "Can you bring it down to the common room right away and open it to the article on the Spice Girls for me?"

Harry's mouth hung open. "You interrupted-" He blushed, stalled and tried again. "For that you barged in here at this time of the morning?"

Hermione sniffed at him. "How was I to know you'd be here? Besides, it's not my fault you're skiving off Auror training to sneak in here to get your knob polished by your girlfriend on today of all days - when I _need_ her for a girl emergency." She looked at Gin with excitement. "It's a long story. Tell you later. The important thing is: The Bloody Baron is downstairs waiting for me to bring proof that women singers are famous in this century. Can you do this for me, please, Gin? Pretty please, with sugar on?"

Grouching as she slumped out of bed, unconcerned for her nakedness, Ginny rummaged through her trunk and pulled out the magazine in question. "The Baron? Why are you hanging out with him? Does Malfoy know?" She threw the rag on the bed and took out some sloppies to temporarily cover up her nudity.

"Who cares if he does? Come on!" Hermione excitedly backed away, heading for the door. "Catch you later, Harry!"

She arrived first in the common room, Ginny dragging her bum down seconds behind. She looked at The Baron, and then Hermione, raised a crimson eyebrow in curiosity, and then set the magazine down on the blank chess board on the gaming table and opened it to the exclusive on the five-woman music sensation. "That all?" Ginny asked behind a hand as she yawned. "My feet are freezing, and I'd like to get back."

Hermione nodded. "Thanks, Gin." She mouthed, "owe you one," as The Baron's attention was drawn to the article and Ginny made her unnoticed exit from the room.

She waited for him to read at his leisure, humming the Spice Girls' song, "Stop" in triumph. When he'd finished the article, he looked up at her, duly impressed. "I stand corrected." He humbly bowed, and as if this were a break in their relationship that she'd been waiting for, he offered her his arm and an intrigued smile. "Tell me more about this century's strange entertainments, if you will."

As she took his arm, touching him for the first time, inside her chest, Hermione felt no beating heart. This did not, however, quash her excitement.

* * *

Draco couldn't believe his eyes: Hermione was touching The Bloody Baron! And they were smiling at each other, talking amicably –  _openly flirting!_

He hid behind a column as she and Slytherin's official House haunter glided past, completely oblivious to his presence. They were having a conversation about 'spicing up girls' - _that better not be code for doing something sexual to her!_ \- and she laughed at the older man's response to one of her questions as they leisurely floated onward towards the exit. Dazed, confused, Draco remained in place, watching as their ethereal bodies disappeared through the large oak doors, too stunned to do or say anything.

Son of a bitch, she hadn't been kidding when she'd threatened him yesterday with this! In the back of his mind, he realized his glaring mistake: he'd totally underestimated Hermione Granger again. The truth was, he hadn't really thought it likely that she could pull off grabbing The Baron's attention, as _no one_ seemed capable of such a monumental feat. The rumors about him had said he'd lost his heart in life to The Grey Lady - something Helena had refused to discuss with Draco when he'd asked - and that the man had never stopped pining for her, following her into this damned afterlife to prove his love. Given such odds, he thought it highly improbable that Gryffindor's Princess could manage more than a sneaked, experimental kiss from The Baron, the same as Draco had of Helena, when testing whether he could feel anything with another ghost. Yet, by the way The Baron had just looked at her, it seemed that events would definitely progress between them so that any kisses they shared would not have to be stolen…

Ugly things in Draco's guts roiled around as the green-eyed monster of jealousy gripped him hard in its fist and shook him.

In a flash, he realized that he was feeling hot under the collar – _literally_ \- and only by thinking of her with another fellow! The awareness that he was actually warming up had him backpedaling, losing his rage in an instant as confusion trumped all other emotion. With the loss of his fury, the loss of all feeling immediately followed; all of his limbs went dead again, the world returning to shades of grey, where hints of color had momentarily peeked through.

How was this possible? He hadn't touched her, and yet, it had been the same type of physical reaction! Did this mean that any strong emotional outburst would trigger bodily feeling again? Or had that brief return to life specifically relied upon _her_ as the object of his anger?

There was only one way to find out: he'd have to continue observing her and The Baron together. Yes, that was the only way to assure the results of this least, that's how he would justify his stalking of her over the next several days.

* * *

**Sunday, December 20th, 1998**

 

Hermione and The Baron spent so much time together talking over this last week, floating here and there at all hours as they debated and discussed such interesting topics as whether Shakespeare was a better writer than Dickens, the triumph of the long bow in famous battles in European history, and of course, British music over the last five decades (she'd caught him up on all of the fun in the entertainment world that he'd missed by being such a fuddy-duddy recluse), that their comfortable walks about the castle and its exterior had quickly become the biggest gossip of the year - even more so than Voldemort's demise, or the juicy topic of what The-Boy-Who-Conquered was doing sneaking out of the Gryffindor girls' dormitories at three o'clock in the morning on occasion.

In the short amount of time since they'd begun 'walking out' with each other, the change in The Baron had been monumental. Although he continued to shoulder the burden of heavy chains about his neck, he no longer sported clothing with blood openly staining the fabric. He'd woven some new pieces from clouds, still maintaining a love for his own generation's style; he dressed very Dark Ages, but there was no denying that he made a tunic and surcoat look _good_. He smiled more, said more – not just to Hermione, but to others. He still managed to scare the snot out of Peeves and keep him in line, but in general, he was much less brooding and dark.

It was no stretch to say that The Baron was an extremely handsome chap to start. With the transformation of his personality, though, his overall looks improved. Gone was the ever-present scowl, which lined and darkened his features. His greenish-gold eyes still seemed to burn with fierce emotion, but often, there appeared the light of teasing in them now. His shoulder-length, straight, light-brown hair had been neatly combed, and a strand on the side even braided and beaded in the tradition of the Anglo-Saxon culture of his previous life. His strong jaw was eternally cursed to be covered with the remnants of the five o'clock shadow that he'd donned at the time of his death, but with the other changes to his countenance, it now appeared a rakish affectation, rather than a scruffy detractor to his jaw and cheeks. His kissable lips tilted more and more every day into the type of smile that could charm a lady's knickers right off. He was not terribly tall – just shy of six feet, but his body had maintained the impressive musculature of his life. He was broad shouldered, powerfully-built and sleekly-cut like the warrior he had been in life.

Godric's bones, he was enough of a man to make any witch desperate for a piece!

And yet, even as she looked at this very fine specimen of a wizard-warrior now, as they traveled the diameter of the Entrance Courtyard - he talking about how magic had refined over the centuries from what he remembered learning as a child, she clinging to his arm - Hermione's mind drifted to memories of platinum hair slipping through her fingers, and warm lips that tasted of spiced tea.

_Foolish witch,_ she silently berated herself. Why could she not let Malfoy go? He'd made it clear that he didn't want her – wasn't even interested enough to show his face this week in spite of all the rumors running amok about her and The Baron. It hurt to admit it, but a tiny part of her had hoped that perhaps he'd realize what he'd thrown away, and want it back. Slytherin's former Prince had shown incredible possessiveness of her that night they'd spent in his room, snogging on his cloud, she sleeping in his cradling arms after. But no, there hadn't been a peep from him, and not a sniff of gossip that he might be upset about the situation. It seemed his interest in her had, indeed, waned. He'd chucked her over, as Ron might say.

Despite all of the reasons why she should be relieved at that fact, she found she wasn't. In fact, the knowledge that he'd never truly cared for her brought her some measure of pain.

"Are you unwell, my lady?" The Baron politely asked, stopping them as they neared the broken central fountain.

"Hmm?" she asked, realizing she hadn't paid a bit of attention to her new beau. "Oh, no, I'm fine, really! I was just… thinking." She contritely bowed her head. "I apologize for my lack of attention - how rude of me!"

The Baron was silent for a moment, and she could feel the weight of his stare upon her. She wondered if he was disappointed.

A gentle hand cupped her chin and forced her to look up at him. She felt the pressure of his touch, but no warmth from it. For several long seconds, their eyes met, and there was curiosity reflected in his stare. "I have heard that kissing you can make a man come back to life," he stated. "I admit I have wondered if there is truth to this tale or not."

"I-I'm not sure if it works for everyone," she admitted. "I'm not even sure why it works. I've only experienced it with one other."

Knowledge burned in those gold-green depths. "With young Lord Malfoy."

"Yes," she whispered, suddenly very anxious. Was he going to try to kiss her? What if nothing happened? Did she even want to find out? Doubts about her plan suddenly plagued her. She'd wanted to test the phenomena, in the hopes that she could find someone more compatible, but now that they were down to it, she was panicking at the thought of another's lips touching hers. Why? What the bloody hell was wrong with her?

"He has been watching us, you know," he informed her in a hushed tone, meant only for her ears. "All this week, in secret. He does not want you to know that he is jealous of our friendship."

Hermione started, her eyes flaring wide with shock. "What?"

To her surprise, hope ignited within her chest, and with it came a single beat of her heart.

Merlin, she'd felt that! It hadn't been her imagination! But had it been caused by knowing Draco's interest in her hadn't waned, or had it been because The Baron had chosen that exact moment of revelation to also move his body in close, to align them and slide his free hand around her waist to intimately draw her up against his solid form?

"Shall we test whether you can react to me the same?" he huskily murmured, lowering his head to hers. "Shall I kiss you so that _all of us_ shall know how we truly feel for each other, finally?"

He hovered just over her mouth, waiting for her response.

"I don't want to use you," she whispered.

"My beautiful lady, we are using each other," he buzzed her lips. "Helena has been watching, too."

With that, he dropped his mouth and gave her a scorching kiss – one that should have burned her up and made her toes curl with its insistent, delicious expertise… and yet, it didn't. Nothing within her came to life. She remained as cold and dead as ever.

A woman's sob was loud in the quiet courtyard - _was that The Grey Lady?_ \- as was Malfoy's angry cursing, and the gasps of at least several others who'd remained hidden to watch the show. Hermione tried to move away, embarrassed, feeling dirty for playing a game that had clearly been out of her league and too underhanded for her liking. However, The Baron maintained his hold about her waist, and slid one of his hands into her hair, holding her in place. They hovered like that, spinning in the middle of the quad, lips locked together, letting everyone who cared to see get a good, long look.

When The Baron felt the exercise had made its point, he drew back. From the regret in his eyes, he understood now the same as she: that there was no emotional connection between them – that there could _never_ be. The experiment had proven out that they were both destined for others.

"You never stopped loving her – Helena Ravenclaw," she very softly murmured, not wanting any remaining audience to listen in.

"No," he mournfully admitted, his genteel smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Hermione swallowed, trying to understand. "You courted me this week to make her jealous."

He nodded. "And you, me, to make young Lord Malfoy equally as resentful and envious."

Admitting her duplicity was a mortifying experience. "I'm truly sorry. I really do find you interesting and handsome. If things were different…"

He pulled their bodies apart, but held onto her hands. "Yes, if my heart had not already been spoken for long before my death, I believe I might easily have given it over to you instead, my lady."

Letting her go, he shifted the chains about his neck - the self-imposed burden he wore to symbolically punish himself for having killed Helena almost a millennia ago - and then offered her his arm for the last time. "I will walk you as far as the Dining Hall, if you wish." It was his way of saying this fake relationship of theirs was now at an end, as he had found his answer – and she hers.

Hermione accepted, and they went back inside. When they parted, he kissed the back of her knuckles with all chivalry, and bid her good luck. Straightening his tunic, he turned and floated off - to find The Grey Lady, the woman he truly loved, no doubt. It seemed The Baron was about to change the dynamics of their centuries-long avoidance of each other. "Good luck to you, too!" she called after him, sighing, realizing that although The Baron may have determined a course of action from their little stunt, she had not. If or until Malfoy decided to stop skulking about and admit he liked her, nothing would change in her love life.

Maybe she should confront him? No, knowing him, he'd only become more defensive. If he still wasn't willing to put aside his stubbornness and prejudice, they'd just be smashing heads, as usual. There would only be more than fighting, and no reconciliation.

She felt like swearing. Instead, she meandered up to the library, and with Madam Pince's help, she was able to find and read through the latest edition of _Hogwarts, A History_. To her surprise, she was actually mentioned in this version of the book, published this last October. It listed her as "a heroine of The Second Wizarding War," who "died defending fellow schoolmate and known Death Eater, Wizard Draco Lucius Malfoy, in the ultimate act of bravery and compassion – by stepping into the line of fire, taking full in the chest a Killing Curse purposefully fired at him across the battlefield."

She re-read the line.

Yep, there it was, in full black and white glory: her life's end summarized in less than fifty words.

Had her sacrifice all been for nothing?

* * *

She'd kissed him - that  _wanking_ Baron, his own ancestor! And they'd both seemed to seriously like the experience! Which meant she could feel something with other ghosts.

_Fuck, fuck, FUCK!_

Raking hands through his silvery-blond hair, Draco whooshed about blindly up and down corridors through the dungeon, passing by rarely-seen classrooms in the ever-changing labyrinth, and not giving them a second glance. His mind was a riot of thought.

What now? Would she start seeing Slytherin's oldest ghost? Would she give her virginity up to The Baron? Just the thought made Draco more furious than he'd ever been before, and once more, he discovered that the emergence of such strong emotion where Granger was concerned made his heart beat and his temperature rise. He felt the blood racing through his spectral veins and arteries once more, filling his senses with the rush of sexual desire at the same time.

Hardening to steel in seconds within the confines of his trousers, he sought out an empty room and without further ado, unzipped and gripped himself in hand, the need to orgasm plowing through him, forcing him to do something or burst on the spot. He didn't care if anyone heard him moaning and repeating her name over and over again as he glided his fingers firm and fast over his cock, remembering the feel of her sweet, little nipples against his fingers and the taste of her skin as he'd nibbled and suckled upon her throat. He didn't care that at the moment he reached his peak, he loudly shouted for her.

In the aftermath, he'd had to resignedly admit it to himself: he was crushing hard on Hermione Granger, Gryffindor's perfect Lioness. Spending five days practically watching her every move, intently listening in on her conversations with The Baron - impressed by the breadth of her knowledge, her wit, and the way her mind could easily puzzle through logical arguments to find the glaring flaws – had only enamored him more to her. The constant worrying when she disappeared at night, wondering whether she was with his ancient ancestor in her chambers (or worse, his), and subsequently being hit with these weird 'hot flashes' of life as his temper was continuously riled as he spied her clear enjoyment in prancing about all over the castle grounds on the arm of the handsome Slytherin _chevalier_ had really messed with him. But seeing her actually kiss him today had been the straw that broke his camel's back.

There was no denying it anymore: Draco wanted her. And no, it wasn't just because Hermione made him feel, as he had when he was alive. It was because she made him feel _new_ _sensations_ – emotions he'd never known when he'd been breathing for real, and things he'd only ever dreamed of knowing in the quiet, secret corners of his heart.

But he was angry with her, too. It had only been five days since their last press of lips, and yet she'd let The Baron kiss her with what looked like some serious passion. Clearly, Granger was the fickle type, who could quick to rebound… just like his ex, Julie.

Bloody, buggering hell.

* * *

**Monday, December 21st, 1998**

 

It had been an accident, bumping into Malfoy that morning as Hermione had walked through a wall on the fourth floor corridor, and now they were stuck again.

"Hell," he resignedly sighed, staring up at the detestable weed that was sprouting little white berries above both of their heads. "Did you do this on purpose?" he sullenly accused her, crossing his arms.

Hermione's ire shot through the roof at being indicted of such a ridiculously underhanded trick. "Did I, what? Is that what you think? Why would I? I've been going out of my way to avoid you for the past week, in case you hadn't noticed!" she was shouting at him by the end, and shoved his chest rather hard, hoping to push him away. His feet didn't move, however, stuck as they were in spot by the damned mistletoe charm. His upper body swayed backwards at an unnatural angle instead, before springing back into place. "I think you did it just to fuck with _me_!" she charged back. "Skulking around here, knowing this is my preferred path to the library."

One golden eyebrow crooked up in surprise. "Did you just say 'fuck'?"

At the end of her wits with him and their whole damnable situation, Hermione tossed her hands up. "Care to hear it again? _FUCK!_ " she hollered, her incensed voice carrying down the tall-ceilinged hallway in each direction. "News flash for you, Malfoy: I've always been able to curse! I've certainly done it enough times where you're concerned."

To her amazement, his lips twitched with amusement.

"Find this funny, do you?" she challenged, putting her hands on her waist and jutting her chin in defiance.

Those perfect lips twitched again, this time slanting upwards. "As a matter of fact-"

Narrowing her eyes in warning, she stuck a finger in his face. "Say the wrong thing, Draco. Go on. I dare you! I'm dying for an excuse to beat you up."

His smirk became a full-blown grin; perfectly straight, very white teeth (Merlin, what a turn on!) flashed, and something predatory entered his eye. "Your hair gets bigger when you get angry. Did you know?"

That did it! She made to slap him, but he caught her hand with reflexes that were as fast as a cat's playing with a mouse. "Nuh-uh, Princess," he chastised. "You got away with that once back in third year. Never again."

Undeterred, she slapped him with her other hand. The blow was delivered with just enough force to make her point, but not to turn his head. He never saw it coming, though, too busy gloating. "Oy!" he protested, his brows lowering and his smile dropping away in an instant. "You know, you can be a real nasty bit-"

Her finger was back in his face. "Say it and it's your testicles next."

"Bitch," he dared, then grabbed her around the waist and drew her in, slanting his mouth over hers.

The sun lit up in her wintry sky once more, and almost instantly, she was flooded with heat and need in a rush of sensation that left her weak in the knees. Merlin, she'd missed this – missed _him_ and his irritating temper and the way he could always rile her up. She absolutely hated to admit it, but The Baron had been too congenial in their debates for her taste, honestly. Hermione liked pitting wits with someone who wouldn't back down out of politeness or fear of insult, and who could manipulate the conversation to try to find a rhetorical advantage, as it forced her to use all of her intellect to counter – and therein, lay the fun. Malfoy was such an opponent; he kept her on her toes, challenging her at every turn and in every fashion, even in _this_ manner.

Besides, it seemed to be her doom that only Draco could make her feel anything anymore.

He nipped her lips, coaxing them to part with insistent maneuvering, shoving his tongue deep into her and tasting every crevice once she'd capitulated. The explosion of spicy tea in her mouth made things in her womb clench and tighten with animal need.

Okay, maybe not so much 'doom,' per se…

They both groaned as their hot bodies pressed together, and she knew he was experiencing the same flood of feeling as she was just then. "Fuck me sideways, how do you _do_ this to me, woman?" he wondered in a murmur around their mouths' desperate meetings. "I swore to keep you at arm's length."

"Yes, well, me too," she rejoined, moaning as he increased the intensity of his attack to silence her. "You're a total git, you know," she managed to growl between melting pulls of lips.

One of his hands cupped her cheek, the other sliding around her waist to possessively draw her in. "I missed you, too, Granger," he drawled in between teasing licks and sensual tongue thrusts.

Heat bloomed up her cheeks, her heart's silence was shattered as it took off under her ribs, and again, she wondered how any of it could be possible.

* * *

He'd let her go upon her request after more than thirty minutes of snogging, but the moment they'd parted, he'd felt the cold creep back in, faster than ever this time. Despairing, he hurried to his room, hating that moment when his blood flow began trickling into nothingness once again, despondent when his pulse faded slowly into the ether.

Bloody, _stuffing_ purgatory, he'd vowed not to touch her again! He'd told himself he wouldn't make the same mistake twice with a girl – especially _this_ one. He was such a self-flagellating liar.

There was nothing for it, it seemed; he was good and trapped now. He'd known it the moment their lips had touched again…

…and shite, how he'd missed her brassy, smart mouth!

So, it was obvious what he had to do next: he'd give her a few hours to come to terms with the fact that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her, and then he'd go find her and remind her of that maddening, little point – and to make it clear to her that her relationship with The Baron was over. Knowing her stubbornness, he decided he wouldn't come right out and demand she stop seeing the man; he'd just seduce the un-living hell out of her, so she'd naturally want to break things off with his ancestor's ghost all on her own.

He was slowly learning that with Granger, it seemed it was better to tempt her, rather than to demand compliance, for her stubborn Gryffindor pride resisted attempts at domination.

* * *

**Tuesday, December 22nd, 1998**

** **

As Hermione cuddled into the fluffy white of Malfoy's cloud after a night of sinful play, staring up at the stone ceiling far above their heads, she wondered what she should do next. Merlin, but she'd really stepped in it this time! She'd actually let Draco remove her bra and touch – and lick, bite, and suckle, too – her breasts for several hours last night.

The sneaky Ferret had hunted her down at dinner, when everyone in the castle had been occupied in the Dining Hall, and he'd jumped her, succeeding in seducing her into his room thereafter. It hadn't been that difficult an accomplishment for him, either, as she'd behaved like some sort of wanton hussy in his arms! She was embarrassed now by how easily he'd been able to get her on her back.

On the other hand, it felt as if the deck had been stacked against her from the start and the outcome inevitable. Her wizard was as slippery as a snake-oil salesman, and charismatic enough to charm angels to fall from Heaven, and she was as curious as a kitten discovering whole new facets of life.

Recalling again how his fingers had nimbly unbuttoned her blouse and pulled the cups of her bra down in a swift, decisive move, and the feel of his warm, moist mouth enveloping one of her nipples, suckling upon it with firm pressure, she shivered with renewed desire. Good Godric, she'd lost her ever-loving mind last night! Reason and logic and debate had flown right out the window the second his wicked, sweet lips had wrapped around her tight, little bud.

She winced at an uncomfortable memory: had she really wrapped her legs around his waist, and let him carry her away to his room, all the while begging him to hurry up in soft whimpers against his throat? They hadn't even talked about getting back together (if they'd been together the first time, that was to say), and the next thing she'd known, they were floating through stone walls and floors to finally come to rest upon his cloud.

Yet, as he'd laid her back into the white, soft vapor, staring into her soul with longing so sincere, so pure, she'd silently given in to the idea of _them_. Talking hadn't really been necessary after that.

Oh, how he'd made her surrender well worth the price! Never in her life had Hermione known anything as pleasurable as the rasp of his tongue and the sting of his teeth over her taut, desperate peaks. He'd marked her with tenderly-given love bruises, and then he'd done the same to both sides of her neck. Content with his branding efforts, his lips claimed hers again and he'd kissed her as if she were his whole universe.

When he'd bent his mouth over her ear and whispered the demand that she never let The Bloody Baron touch her again – to be only _his_ in this way – and then backed-up the requirement with a simultaneously pinching and rolling of both of her nipples between his index fingers and thumbs, she'd freely agreed to give him all he asked of her. Promises thus made, they spent the rest of the night cuddling, gently touching, tasting and learning.

He hadn't touched her anywhere below the waist last night, but Hermione was still painfully shy about what _had_ transpired between them. That was the furthest she'd ever gone with a boy, and it had been utterly wonderful, but what if in the light of day he now thought her terribly immature because she'd been so ridiculously nervous? There had been no controlling or hiding the quaking in her limbs, or preventing the mewling gasps and tiny jolts as he'd bent his mouth to her skin. She felt a tad foolish, being as old as she was (technically, she'd be eighteen forever, but she'd resolutely decided to keep counting the years as if she were still living, so that would make her nineteen now) and totally lacking sexual experience.

Waking up on Malfoy's cloud after kissing, still fully-clothed was one thing, but last night her entire torso had been exposed and there had been no covers to hide that glaring fact.

Gads, she'd never be able to look him in the eye again.

Bashfully, she sat up and reached for her cloud-woven shirt and bra, slipping them and her shoes back on. She kept her back to Draco, anxious about what would happen next. Would he still want her, or would he pull another coward's act and back off, leaving her frustrated and angry again? Or would he simply dump her for being too green?

As if he'd read her mind, Malfoy answered her concerns by simply gliding in behind her and pulling her tightly to his chest. He wrapped his arms about her middle and slid his hot mouth over her ear. "Thank you for staying with me and for letting me touch you again. You should know that I meant what I said last night, Granger – all of it."

He'd apologized for their fight as they'd lain entwined in peaceful repose, explaining to her in the moments before they dropped off to sleep that he'd never been very good in relationships, and that trusting others wasn't something he'd had too many good experiences with. He'd offered to try, however, and that's all that really mattered.

She nodded. Well, thank the Four Founders her concerns were moot. Apparently, he thought her lack of sophistication in the bedroom acceptable, and apparently wanted them to make a go at dating. In that case, she'd get the ball rolling… "Want to take a walk with me? Outside, I mean. I like to watch the sun rise as often as I can."

"Sure," he easily assented, and after they'd both redressed, he offered her his hand. When she slipped her fingers into his, he led her out into the dungeon and into the air.

They strolled together along the high stone wall at the property's boundary line in the darkness just before dawn. This barrier represented the extent of their range, as it were; they could not pass beyond it, for whatever unknown reason. For the first time, that limitation didn't seem quite so depressing to Hermione.

Further to her relief, being alone with Draco in a non-sexual situation was actually quite enjoyable. His presence at her side was somehow reassuring. Thankfully, he appeared as relaxed in the moment as she felt. It seemed that they had reached a comfortable understanding in their relationship.

Meandering over the snow-blanketed lawn, they stopped when they reached a spot where they could get an excellent view of the approaching dawn. Slowly, over a matter of half an hour, the violet night fused with a pinky glow as the sun crested the horizon. Minutes later, the rosy hue gave way to gold, and the magic of the sun turn the hushed, pale, too-lifeless world about them into a palette of rainbow-sparkling diamonds as trillions of ice crystals reflected the light. The endless carpet of emerald pointed trees that moved off into the mountains in the distance crackled in the warming temperature.

"It's _so_ beautiful," Hermione murmured, not wanting to disturb the scene, enamored once more with the majesty of this place she'd now call 'home' for eternity.

A hand brushed strands of her curly hair over one ear. "Yes, quite beautiful."

The tremble in Draco's voice and in the light stroke of his fingertips tugged at her heart. Hermione turned into his touch.

As she glanced up, she noted the passion that melted his intense gaze, turning the normal grey of his eyes into living mercury. The hungry, longing - the blatant, hot _need_ \- reflected in his stare called out to her; it bid her throw away every restraint and doubt, and completely give herself over to him. Terrified by the invitation, but oddly enchanted by it at the same time, she turned into the curve of his body and twined her arms around his neck. With soft strokes, she tickled the base of his hairline with her fingertips - an erogenous spot for him, she had discovered last night. He groaned, pulling her in tight and rested his forehead on hers.

"I'm falling for you, I think," she admitted with every ounce of courage she could muster, peeking at him through her lashes to gauge his response. "And I think it's not too arrogant to assume that you might be falling for me, too."

His throat convulsed around a thick swallow. "Yeah," he admitted.

Clearly, that was all the confessing he was going to do, but for Hermione, it was enough.

They kissed again until the sun was high in the sky, lost in the new fragility of their shared feelings. Then they finished their walk in silence, not wanting to disturb the poignancy of the moment with words, their entwined fingers instead saying all that needed to be said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES
> 
> In 1998, The Spice Girls were a big hit in the U.K. since their debut in 1996, and Hermione would have surely known who they were by the time this fic takes place, dead or not.
> 
> Chevalier = French for "cavalier/knight."


	5. Was Blind

.

_**Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,** _ _**  
And mortal life shall cease,** _ __**  
I shall possess within the Veil  
A life of joy and peace.**

.

**Tuesday, December 22nd, 1998**

 

 

"I saw you," Zabini teased, coming up alongside Draco later that afternoon and walking with him across the stone bridge. "You and Granger, holding hands this morning when you left your room together. I knew you two would eventually shag!"

Draco growled. "We didn't shag!" He whirled around to face his friend, forcing him to come to a sudden stop or risk walking right through him and feeling that cold, unnerving sensation that the living often experienced when touching the ethereal plane. "She's a nice girl, so don't go spreading gossip."

Blaise dropped all pretentiousness in a heartbeat; it was clear that he was floored by what Draco had just said. "Holy shite, mate. You really like her, don't you?"

His instinct was to deny his friend's accusation, but really, what was the point? He was dead. Issues of blood purity, caring about a reputation and finding one's place amongst society's hierarchy were trivial matters for the living. None of that mattered to him any longer. Seriously, things were much simpler on this side of the mortal divide.

What he felt when he was with Granger wasn't something he'd ever experienced before. They'd spent all night and this morning together, and it was _bloody fantastic_. They'd kissed, talked and touched, and he'd discovered that he liked her shyness as much as her brassiness. Her rich laugh, her soft lips and her dark amber eyes were both innocent and mischievous at the same time, warming and exciting him. And she always had something fascinating and unexpected to say.

"Yeah, I like her."

"More than Julie?" his friend asked, cautiously feeling his way around the situation.

There was no hesitation to his confirming nod. "A _lot_ more."

Zabini said nothing for a bit, but the light of curiosity twinkled in his dark brown gaze. "Right, look, I'm just going to come right out and ask: are you sure it isn't guilt? I mean, she _did_ die trying to save you."

Draco's guts roiled with shame. Granger taking Macnair's Killing Curse in his stead had been probably one of the bravest things he'd ever witnessed - and yes, it filled him with a terrible remorse. Why she'd intentionally stepped in front of him when he'd given her no reason whatsoever to care for him was a question he'd continually pondered over the last seven months. He was no closer to finding an answer now than he had been upon his "awakening" as a ghost.

What he _did_ know, however, was that what he felt now for Gryffindor's Princess wasn't motivated by his inadvertent culpability in her life's end, but rather a genuine affection for the ghostly woman she was now. "No, it's not guilt that draws me to her." He looked up at the blue sky overhead. It was a clear, bright day today, but in another two hours it would grow dark, as they had just celebrated the Solstice, the shortest day of the year. "Although, I'll admit that what happened haunts me. I still don't know why she did it."

Blaise stepped around him and kept walking. Sunny it might be, but it was still the dead of winter and therefore cold to those with blood-warmed flesh. "Right, then are you sure it isn't just a physical thing?" his friend pressed. "I mean, you said touching her was like being able to live again. I could see how something like that could draw you in and make you want to stay."

He'd considered that, actually, and had dismissed it after this morning's walk. "If that was all there was, I'd just have to brush against her every once in a while. I wouldn't want more."

Zabini's eyebrow rose as he turned his head to look at his friend, opening the door into the castle adjunct. "More, huh? How much more, if she's too nice of a girl for you to consider sleeping with?"

Draco silently contemplated that question as they entered the hallway together and headed towards the Herbology classrooms at the end. As they neared the proper door, Blaise stepped aside to let some of the current seventh years, whom the eighth years shared all their classes with, go past him to take their seats.

"Look, Draco, if it's serious for you, then go for it. Don't let what happened in the past with Julie ruin what you could have now," his friend advised. He turned a cheeky smirk on him. "Just because you're dead doesn't mean you're _dead_ , apparently - at least, not in your shorts. Live up your afterlife and stop torturing yourself with the failures of your previous life!" He tsk'd. "Shite, mate, not everyone's lucky enough to get a second chance to make things right and good, you know?"

Blaise went in and the door shut behind him, and all Draco could do was stare at it, realizing quite suddenly – in the inadvertent wisdom of his friend's words - why he'd been unable to pass through the Veil, and why he and Granger had been left in this state of in-between living as a result.

He hurried off to give the matter some serious thought.

* * *

**Wednesday, December 23rd, 1998**

 

The window in the second floor corridor was one of Hermione's favorites because it was large and angled in such a way as to let the noontime sun shine through. It was also one of the least used hallways in the school, mostly because Myrtle would occasionally peek out of her bathroom down the way for some spooking and moaning.

When she'd been alive, Hermione had often sat on the large stone sill overlooking this particular view to soak up the rays on a lazy Sunday afternoon, a book from the library open in her lap. It was one of her favourite, most comfortable spots to haunt in the whole castle, and a place of peace where she could escape to when wanting clarity.

An unusual shift in air currents about her alerted her to Draco's arrival. His spectral energy stretched out before him, reaching for _her_ , and for the first time since her death, she felt a small breeze against her ghostly flesh. It was an incredibly erotic sensation, making her fingertips tingle and her toes curl. "Hi," she shyly greeted him as he moved in behind her.

Warm arms embraced her, making her entire world burst with color and scent and feeling again, adding to her delight. "Hi," Draco returned, his mouth buzzing the shell of her ear. He kissed it very softly, moved an inch lower, kissed again, and repeated the delicious greeting all the way down her throat.

"Miss me, did you?" she teased, folding her hands over his and leaning back into him.

He hummed in agreement, even as his mouth latched onto her neck and nibbled. "Come to my room, right now?" he requested.

Her first thought was to deny him, but then she considered it. What else did she have to do today? There weren't any students to tutor just one day out from their departure for the Christmas holiday. Everyone was relaxing, using the free day to pick up last minute gifts at Hogsmeade, or playing outside in the snow, or hanging out in their common rooms.

_Or covertly having sexual encounters in the dorms_ , a little voice in the back of her head reminded her. _Something you could be doing, too._

The thought of a repeat of the other night had her flushing hot with growing desire, and it took her only a second to screw up her Gryffindor courage. "Lead the way."

* * *

Draco knew she wasn't ready for sex by the way her thighs uncontrollably quaked when he touched her between her legs for the first time. He also knew then that she'd been telling the one-hundred percent truth: she'd never let anyone do this to her before. She really was a virgin. For that reason, he took it slow.

It was awfully hard to ignore his screaming lust, though. That devilish voice inside his subconscious mind reminded him that she was now fully naked and willingly lying upon _his_ cloud in _his_ private room. It tried to entice him to simply strip down his slacks in an easy three-part move - unbuckle, unbutton, unzip – so that he could then shag her until they both fell through the earth itself.

The well-mannered part of his personality, however, warned him that he should be more considerate and respectful of Hermione, especially if he intended upon someday winning those three little words from her that he'd recently decided he someday wanted to hear fall from her lips.

No, he would ease her into this. He didn't want her scared when he finally took her. He wanted her eager and prepared.

Trailing a single finger between the seam of her lower lips, he was surprised to find her dark curls sticky with arousal. Hmm. _He_ didn't put out any lubrication when he touched himself, so why was _she_ doing so? But then, when they kissed or touched, his mouth was always wet, wasn't it? Bizarre.

Hermione's breath hitched. "Oh," she gasped in surprise as he leisurely circled her clit, her brandy-colored eyes never leaving his, her fingernails digging into his shoulders. "That's-" He swirled around the little nub faster and her eyelids slammed shut, even as her mouth parted in amazement. Her head tilted back forming a tiny arch, and she moaned. The low, husky sound shot straight to his cock, and his hips jerked as he hardened to steel in seconds.

Draco was thoroughly enchanted, watching his witch as she experienced bliss in this manner. The expressions crossing her face made him feel arrogantly male and potent, and at the same time, protective and adoring. He'd never watched Julie in this way, as it had always been fast, sweaty oral pleasuring and/or fucking between them, for fear of getting caught.

As he looked at those times now, he realized that his relationship with Parkes had really been all about him. Shooting his load off had been the major goal as they'd romped from bed to broom closet to hidden nook to Quidditch stand in their frenzied drive to shag. Getting her to orgasm during those times had merely been a testament to his growing skill, but not the focus. Now, though, he was concentrated on Hermione's needs, on assuring her enjoyment. That came first, above and beyond his body's drives.

It was heady stuff, this caring for someone else.

He continued teasing the tiny, satin round at the top of her cleft, figuring out exactly where the most sensitive spot upon it was through trial-and-error. Granger directed him with breathy gasps and rolling hips until he located it, and then he proceeded to capitalize upon that discovery. He brought her to the cusp of ecstasy before slowly backing off, to feel the vibrations of her tensed muscles as she hovered, desperate for that final push that would bring her screaming over the edge.

"I want to taste you today," he whispered, lowering his mouth to hers for tender, wet kisses. "I want you coming against my lips. Would you like that - my soft tongue licking you here?" Dipping downward through her drenched curls, he glided through a wealth of dew gathered at her small entrance and gathered it up to coat her velvety-soft inner lips with her glistening wetness.

Hermione whimpered and eagerly nodded. "Yes. _Oh, please, yes!"_ she moaned as he tickled her clit.

The scent of her arousal was a musky, light perfume, moist and warm. His tight, hard erection began throbbing as her fragrance permeated the air, and he distinctly felt the slick moisture of pre-come engulf the tip of his penis.

Holy shite, was he getting wet for her?

"Don't stop," she pleaded in a whisper, and he realized he'd unwittingly gone still in his surprise. Putting aside his astonishment for the moment, he continued his methodical attentions, and persuaded her pleasure by carefully burying a single finger inside her tight canal, gently thrusting away while using his thumb to stimulate the tiny bundle of nerves at the top of her slit, right over her special spot. Lowering his head to her breasts at the same time, he suckled first one, then the other, nibbling the small peaks until they were red and taut from his consideration.

Hermione's hips slowly undulated along with his established rhythm, her small fingers digging those sharp, little nails into his bared shoulders. "Oh! Oh, Draco… I never knew it could feel this _good!_ " she mewled, her pitch high and desperate as she reached for the peak of rapture again.

_Me, either_ , he thought, swirling his tongue just so over a nipple and biting down with a bit more pressure.

That tumbled his sweet girl right over the edge. She positively wailed as she experienced her very first climax.

Inside Draco's pants, he came at that exact moment, and this time, he felt the spurts of inert, phantom seed soaking the front of his trousers. The intensity of their shared orgasm made his eyes roll back in his head.

* * *

Hermione spent all afternoon and evening with Draco, allowing him to take liberties with her body that she'd never dreamed possible. He'd lapped over every inch of her –  _including_ between her legs, as he'd promised - bringing her to one climax after another as he suckled and nibbled upon her with the same devotion as he gave to their kisses. It was all about her pleasure; he refused her offer to learn how to return the favor, citing that if they both got naked it would be "too tempting to shag her rotten." Giggling at his blunt clarification, she stopped trying to argue with him over it and just let him have his way. If he wanted to spoil her, who was she to refuse him?

And Great Lords 'a Leapin', _did_ he spoil her – to the tune of her loud, lusty cries and to the delight of her shivering, enlightened body!

At some point, she'd finally had to call them done, too exhausted to reach for that next high, her body sore and over-stimulated from the continual clenching and writhing. Cuddling into his arms by silent agreement, they slept together again in his room, she fully naked in his arms, he keeping his slacks on to avoid provocation and, in his words, to show her proper respect.

Fading in and out of dreams in the first hour after she closed her eyes, she could feel Malfoy continually touching her in some manner, be it running fingers down her arm, through her hair, over her cheek, or around the curve of her backside and hip. She also could have sworn she heard him whispering to her, but she was too worn-out by all his earlier attentions to give it much more than a cursory thought.

Eventually, when the darkness pulled her under, her last thought was of how much she was coming to like her new boyfriend - not just for the sex stuff, but for the man he was inside. Years of childhood rivalry and social brainwashing on both sides had kept them from truly knowing each other. Now, the more time they spent together, the more those walls crumbled, and a new understanding was built in their place. _This_ Draco Malfoy, she was starting to realize, might very well be the boy of her dreams.

* * *

Draco held his witch close to his heart, caressing her, trying not only to lull her into sleep, but also to reassure himself that he was really here with her. It seemed surreal that he was allowed to even touch her -  _Hermione Granger_ \- much less that she would enjoy his attentions, especially after everything between them.

"You were right," he whispered into her hair as he pressed a kiss against her riot of curls. "I have fallen for you. Who'd have thought it - a Malfoy loving a Muggle-born, eh?" He sighed in turn, a smile tugging at his lips, the irony of their situation not lost upon him. "I don't deserve you, you know. I figured it out, you see - why we're here, you and me. Blaise tipped me off."

He snuggled closer to her, afraid that at any minute she'd disappear and he'd be stuck here forever without her. "I _really_ don't deserve you, Granger," he murmured as he leaned down and very softly kissed her lips, "but I'm going to try to."

* * *

**Thursday, December 24th, 1998**

 

Hermione floated alongside her friends' Thestral-drawn carriage all the way to the Entrance Gates, where they disembarked, planning to Apparate home for the holidays. Stopping on the inside of the wrought iron fence, she waved them off as they stepped beyond the wards of the property.

"See you in a few days," she offered with a bright smile, hiding her real feelings, not wanting to make her friends feel guilty for having a life outside of Hogwarts. It hurt her to know she'd never be able to see the Burrow again, or to visit her old room at her family's home in Godalming, but she tried to lift her spirits with a reminder that she had a _new_ home now – a magical, exciting place with a lot to see and do, and where things constantly changed, and yet comfortingly remained the same.

Ginny turned back, tears in her eyes. "You're sure you don't want us to visit tomorrow? Mum, Dad, and everyone would love to-"

Shaking her head, Hermione gave her best girl friend a smile. "Christmas should be spent at home whenever possible. Come the day after, if you want."

Wiping her tears away, her friend gave her a determined nod. "We will. Harry and Ron will both be home from Auror training, too, so we'll all be here by noon. I'll make sure of it." Neville nodded in agreement, as did Luna, and they all three made promises, wished her a "Happy Christmas," and were gone in a loud series of cracks, trunks in hands.

The world was eerily still in the wake of their departure, and it reminded Hermione once more that she was no longer alive, but a ghostly shell of her former self.

Sniffling, she wiped the tears from her eyes and turned to find Draco floating a few feet away, waiting for her. They looked at each other, equal parts sorrow and understanding. This would be the first Christmas of their shared non-existence. Sir Nicholas had told her a few months ago that it would be the hardest one to face, but that it got easier as time passed. Merlin, she hoped so because right then, she felt rather wretched.

Her wizard held his hand out to her and she drifted over to him and took it without hesitation, allowing him to draw her into his sphere of warmth once more. "No sadness. We have each other," he breathed against her cheek, bending to kiss her once more. "Our first real Christmas together."

He was right! He would be by her side through the holidays, and she wouldn't be alone to face the day in a bleak grey, emotionless manner. With his touch, she'd see the colors of the world, and be able to keep her warmth and heartbeat. It could be like they were still alive, if they pretended.

With gentle persuasion, Draco led them back the way they had come. "So," he began, peeking at her out of the corner of his eye as they floated together down the long, well-worn Entrance footpath towards the castle. "Which do you think is a better predictor of the future: tea leaf divination or tarot card reading?"

The second the question was out of his mouth, Hermione _knew_ he was intentionally baiting her, touching upon a topic that would rile her up so as to take her mind off of her sadness – because, really, the boy couldn't give a bloody hoot one way or the other, as he'd found Divination to be as ridiculous as she had. "They're both horse pucky, and you know it," she contended, feeling that familiar roiling excitement in her guts as she girded up to do battle with Malfoy once more. A good fight would be just what the Healer ordered! "Only an idiot buys into that load of mystical Hoodoo crike."

"Way to go, Miss Open-Minded," he challenged her. "I'll have you know that tea leaf divination…"

They debated the issue all the way back to the Covered Bridge, through the Clock Tower Courtyard and continued into the Clock Tower itself. Within minutes, their very loud row could be heard all up and down the corridors, and eventually echoing from top to bottom through the Grand Staircase. By mutual agreement, they floated towards the fourth floor to the library where reference material could be used to prove facts and nail points. They never made it that far, however, pausing in the middle of the square, shifting tower to have it out. Ghosts and portraits strained to watch the two on-again/off-again rivals hurl insults, cast derision at ideas, and then agree that the whole argument was stupid to begin with, and that snogging was a much better way to pass the time. When they proceeded to do so in front of everyone, latching on to each other with gusto, their caustic words instantly forgiven and forgotten, there were cheers, jeers, and even a smattering of applause from the gathered assemblage.

Hermione ignored them all, losing her mind to the sensations of Draco's taste, touch, and smell once more. He groaned when he pulled her in tight and she could feel his erection straining against her pelvis. "You drive me spare, witch," he admitted, resting his forehead on hers so they could take a breather.

"Thanks," she sighed in perverse pleasure as they floated in space, several stories above the ground, arms firmly locked about each other. "I needed that to get me out of my funk."

He kissed her on the nose. "You're quite welcome."

"You tricked me, didn't you?" she accused around a grin.

He merely smirked.

"You really _were_ born to be in Slytherin, weren't you?"

Draco shrugged, and then pretended to shake out his eardrum to stop the fake ringing from her shrill voice. "And you're as gutsy a Gryffindor as I've ever had the _dis_ pleasure to cross swords with. You just don't back down, do you?"

Firmly, she shook her head. "Nope. When I get my mind fixed on an idea, it's hard to persuade me to quit it."

His silvery, laughing eyes suddenly softened. "So I noticed."

They kissed a little more, and then proceeded to take a walk across the whole of the grounds, holding hands and talking (no shouting this time), reliving memories of past Christmases in their childhoods. She felt loads better in no time, realizing that Christmas was a state of mind, not a state of being. So long as she kept the spirit of the holiday in her heart, she was never without her loved ones.

Of course, having a boyfriend who _really_ seemed to understand you wasn't a bad thing, either - especially when he kissed so bloody well!

* * *

That night, Draco and Hermione were invited to attend the impromptu wedding of The Bloody Baron to The Grey Lady. The event took place in the Dining Hall at precisely ten o'clock. In attendance were all of the ghosts, the remaining faculty on location, and McGonagall had the largest picture frame in the castle – an African safari motif – moved into the room so that all of the portraits could cram in to watch, if they chose to do so. To the surprise of all in attendance, even Peeves showed up, having been permitted to be there so long as he behaved - which he did under the occasionally flickering, wary eye of The Baron. It was the event of the millennia, and no one wanted to miss it, even the resident poltergeist.

The ceremony was presided over by the Headmistress up at the front of the room, the teacher's table having been moved and the giant Christmas tree playing backdrop to the event. Draco and Hermione took their places in the middle of the main dining area amongst the other attendees, the student tables also having been pushed to the sides to make room for the festivities. He stood on Helena's side, she on The Baron's. They threw covert, naughty looks across the aisle at each other even as the two matrimonial lovers – who had clearly overcome all of the issues between them, as The Baron no longer wore bloodied clothing, nor the chains of his self-imposed penance upon his shoulders, and the couple smiled like two people in desperate love whenever they looked upon the other – spoke their vows, exchanged rings made of cloud material to resemble metal, and kissed to seal their promises to each other. The room erupted into celebration as they were _finally_ pronounced husband and wife.

As Draco and his date for the evening went to congratulate the happy couple, The Baron shook his offered hand with a firm, merry grip. "It seems things have worked out for the best for all involved," his great-ancestor declared, throwing him with a knowing smirk. He leaned in close to whisper in conspiracy. "She imagined I was you the whole time."

Draco could only nod in thanks for that acknowledgment, letting bygones be bygones.

He turned his attention to the ravishing bride as The Baron moved over to speak to Hermione. Helena kissed his cheek in greeting. "Have you deciphered the riddle of your afterlife yet?" she asked, her eyes traveling to Granger.

Draco followed her gaze, captured once more by his girl's pretty smile as she laughed at something The Baron said. "Yes, I figured it out the other day. You were right: some things _were_ meant to be. Too bad it took dying to see it, though."

The Grey Lady shrugged her dainty shoulders. "Sometimes, it is death that teaches the greatest lessons."

"She doesn't know yet," he murmured in a secretive tone.

The daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw – known as the brightest witch of her age, when she'd been alive - sighed in understanding and nodded. "Will you tell her soon?"

He rubbed the side of his head with worry. "Did you tell _him?_ " he jerked his chin towards Hugh Black, the former Baron of Swindon, his mother's long-ago ancestor.

She nodded. "Last eve. I feared we would disappear once the truth was revealed, but it seems we are here until we decide we no longer want to be."

"And then what?"

Helena tilted her head in an intimation of uncertainty. "We will move through the Veil and be reborn, I think. That is my hope, in any case. Then, we can find each other again and spend the next lifetime together, enjoying our shared, new existence as we should have all along."

Draco bit the side of his lip, concerned. "You don't know for sure what'll happen, though?"

She shook her head. "There are no guarantees in life or in death, Lord Malfoy. Sometimes, all you have is faith."

An hour later, the newly-married couple danced around the room to the sounds of Minerva's magically-enhanced Muggle phonograph collection. Draco managed to convince Hermione to take a spin on the floor with him, and he taught her to waltz, his enforced childhood lessons in dance finally being put to good use. They laughed quite often as she made missteps or as they accidentally collided with other ghostly dancers.

At midnight, the castle bell rang out, and McGonagall wished all an official Happy Christmas. Peeves set off a box of Weasley Wizarding fireworks in celebration of the dual occasion. Unfortunately, he'd done so _inside_ the castle, and accidentally set one of the dry Yule wreaths on fire - causing Minerva to have to hastily put them out. The lingering scent of burning pine needles permeated the air. Thankfully, the incident was quickly contained and although the castle was now minus one holiday wall decoration, they came out of the incident with relatively minimal loss to property - which was a new record when dealing with Peeves.

With no indication as to when the celebration intended upon ending, as ghosts and portraits never tired and the Hogwarts staff were in full-swing enjoying the delights they'd had the house-elves prepare for the living guests, Draco had to _seriously_ work to convince his girlfriend to ditch the party and come back to his room sooner, rather than later. He was panting for her by the time they made it to his cloud and shucked her clothing, his shirt, and their shoes to the side.

It was dawn before they finally fell into an exhausted tumble of limbs, he having brought her to ecstasy several times, and even finding his own release when she reached into his trousers and stroked over his hardened shaft. Holding her close now, Draco thought back on Helena's words. What would Granger do once he explained to her the reason why she was trapped here? Would she become so angry with him that she'd choose to cross the Veil and leave him behind to face his fate alone?

"Please, no," he whispered into her hair, swallowing back the lump in his throat.

It was a totally arsehole-selfish thought, but the prospect of never seeing her again…

"No, what?" she murmured, having woken up.

He quickly kissed her. "Nothing. Bad dream," he lied.

Hermione was quiet for a bit, her head tilted back to look him in the eye. "Happy Christmas, Draco."

"Happy Christmas, love," he bid her as he bent to capture her lips again, watching her eyes widen in surprise at the endearment he'd purposefully chosen.

Their kissing turned into full-blown snogging in no time, and then he was bringing her again with his hands and his mouth, imprinting her scent and flavour onto his senses, never wanting to forget such wonderful things. He wore her out, and she was asleep before he could crawl back up her body to join her in rest.

Wiping her sweet juices from his chin, he grinned and wrapped his limbs around her, spooning them. She cradled her frame into his curves, fitting him like a glove. With a final kiss upon her throat, he nestled down and _finally_ was able to sleep without dark thoughts to torture his conscience.


	6. But Now I See

 

.

_**When we've been here ten-thousand years,** _ _**  
Bright shining as the sun,** _ ****  
_We've no less days to sing God's praise_  
 _Then when we've first begun._

.

**Friday, December 25th, 1998**

 

 

Christmas morning was a rather quiet about the castle. Most of the ghosts were still abed - _acloud, actually_ \- having danced and partied all night long at the wedding celebration. The remaining staff on site had Apparated to their family homes to celebrate the holiday meal and gift-giving traditions. Most of the portraits were snoozing in their frames - or in others, depending on how much imbibing they'd done of painted alcohol (Hermione had to wonder how such a thing could be possible, much less permitted, but magic had a funny way of turning everything on its head, making the impossible quite possible, she was still learning).

She and Draco spent the early morning lazing about his cloud, touching, talking, and doing a bit of snogging. He asked her if she had any grand plans, and she replied, "Absolutely nothing," with a light-hearted smile. For the first time in a _very_ long time, Hermione Granger felt burden-free and tickled pink by that fact. A Crumpled-Horned Snorkack could have stampeded through the castle at that moment, and she would have simply shrugged and gone back to surrendering her lips to his. Nothing could faze her.

"I need to go take care of some things," he excused with an apologetic expression, breaking their indolent extravagance. "Can we meet at two o'clock in the Great Hall?"

Disappointed that she'd have to let him go for even a little while, she nodded, guessing that the reason for his urgent departure had something to do with her and a Christmas gift of some sort.

Come to think of it, she hadn't made _him_ anything, had she? She'd better get right on that!

They sat up and redressed, parting at the entrance to the dungeon with a kiss. "Wear something pretty for me," he'd called over his shoulder before disappearing.

She hurried out of the dungeon and up past the Entrance Hall, continuing through the Grand Staircase to her room, trying to decide what to make for him from the last of her cloud's essence.

* * *

Draco hurried up the Headmaster's Tower, cautiously sticking his head through the wall to assure the coast was clear. McGonagall wasn't in; she'd probably left for the day to be with her family, as he'd assumed. He floated though the wall and looked around for the one particular portrait that he'd come to speak with.

Dumbledore's frame was situated right above the entrance to the Headmistress' office. He was sitting in his chair, legs and hands folded in a patient waiting pose, as if he'd expected this visit today. "Happy Christmas, Draco," the old Headmaster cheered, his smile and eyes twinkling with mirth. "You give me the greatest gift by finally seeking me out on today of all days."

Draco was still distinctly uncomfortable with his part in his former professor's death, and he found it hard to look the elderly wizard in the eye – even if it was just a magical picture, and not the real deal. "H-Happy Christmas, sir," he contritely offered back.

There extended several long seconds of awkward silence between them. Draco was acutely aware that the other portraits were silent, clearly listening in. That made it somehow harder to get the necessary words past his lips. "I'm sorry," he offered in way of apology for his part in the Headermaster's death, feeling his chest tighten with remorse. He realized then that Hermione's warmth lingered within him still, making the sensation possible - and quite uncomfortable.

"There, there," Dumbledore gently crooned. "There is nothing to apologize for and nothing to forgive. You did not truly play a part in my death. I am sure Severus explained the curse upon me to you?"

Draco nodded, barely able to look up, but managing to scrounge up some courage for the task at last. "That summer. But still-"

"Then you are aware I was doomed already, and therefore, the rest is moot," his teacher kindly presented with an easy smile. "You did not end my life, Draco. My choices did. I am just sorry that we both now find ourselves without bodies."

It was a good opening for the topic he needed to discuss and Draco suspected that Dumbledore knew it; had maneuvered the conversation, in fact, to get to this point. "Sir, about that: may I ask you some questions about, um, souls?"

Dumbledore enigmatically smiled. "Of course, my boy. I am at your disposal."

Draco opened his mouth and out tumbled all of his thoughts on the afterlife, his suspicions as to why he and Granger were here on this side of the Veil, and his fears about what came next. To his surprise, his former teacher confirmed his hypothesis, but could offer him no advice except this: "I believe you will do what is right, Draco. Your conscience is a good one. Let it guide your heart."

Draco's stomach fluttered into emptiness just as the last of Granger's warmth leech away at that precise moment. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

The Headmaster nodded. "Good Yule, Draco."

"You, too, sir," he bowed in respect and floated away to ponder upon the heaviest decision of his life… and death.

* * *

Hermione had just finished spinning the clouds into a dragon pendant for Draco's Christmas gift. It had taken her hours - and many changes and screams behind her teeth in frustration - to accomplish, as she wasn't the artistic type, but she finally got it exactly as she wanted it. It was a little crudely crafted, but fashionably mannish, she decided. She shaped and produced a necklace for it, too, and then sealed both into their forms with a kiss, as she'd been taught to do by The Grey Lady for articles you wished to keep in permanence. Why it worked that way, she had no idea - perhaps it had something to do with sentiment. In any case, she hoped her boyfriend would like his present.

Truthfully, she'd never been so nervous about giving a gift as she did this one, for she had poured her heart and soul into its weaving.

That accomplished, she realized she only had an hour until the rendezvous time with her wizard, and so quickly spun an appropriate dress and shoes from the remaining cloud wisps - nothing truly fancy, but pretty, as he'd asked. Mimicking it on a dress she'd seen in one of Gin's smuggled fashion magazines, she wove an A-line chiffon, tea-length dress with spaghetti straps and a pair of cute kitten heels. Then, she spent the rest of the time putting her unruly hair up into a French twist to bare her neck and lend some elegance to the look.

Satisfied with the results, she left her room on the fifth floor with gift in hand, stopping only briefly to share polite holiday greetings with the portraits that were now awake, as well as to The Fat Friar, whom she passed in the stairwell. Tuck, he'd admitted his name was (yes, he confirmed that he was, in fact, _that_ Friar Tuck, and yes, his association with a certain charitable bandit whom she'd always believed to have been fiction was based in fact), commented upon how lovely she looked, making her conscientious of the dip in her dress' cleavage. Would Draco like it or find it too provocative?

Arriving in the Great Hall, she found it empty. Seeing as it wasn't quite two o'clock yet, she floated over to the magnificently decorated tree at the front of the room. She loved this particular Yule tradition, as sparkling fairy lights and shiny, rounded ornaments worked their enchantments upon her. Amongst the branches, at various levels, she found the four hidden House ornaments and the lone Hogwarts emblem that the ghosts had woven for the tree as their collective contribution. They didn't actually hang on the tree, but floated in air, their cloud material sealed in form and captured between branches. She thought that a rather clever adaptation as she adjusted the ornament for Ravenclaw, which had slipped at a funny angle.

"I love that about you," Draco startled her from behind.

Turning quickly, her heart gave a little hitch when she took her boyfriend all in. He was dressed in a ravishing cravat and vest suit, complete with jacket, and my, he looked positively scrumptious in dress robes! She imagined what it would be like to take each piece off, a layer at a time…

"What?" she asked in a voice that sounded a bit breathy to her ears.

He drifted closer, and touched the ornament she'd adjusted. "It's not even your House, but you fixed it anyway." His gaze met hers and she definitely stopped breathing then. "It doesn't matter to you what side of the line they're on, you'll save anything – or any _one_ – if you can."

At a loss for words, she could only watch as his hand came up to caress her face.

"That's my favourite thing about you, Granger," he softly murmured. "Your willingness to try, no matter the odds."

Their lips met and she melted.

How long they kissed this time, she didn't know, as her world was only _him_ in those minutes. When he finally pulled back, it was to continue placing gentle kisses all over her face. "Made you something," he whispered, and one of his hands reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulling out a necklace made of silver. Attached to the bottom was a heart-shaped pendant, the cover of which was shaped to resemble two angel wings coming together. They separated in the middle, and opened to reveal a small, secret place that could be used for storing an important, tiny memento.

"You can put whatever you want in it - when you find something of worth that you want to capture, that is," he explained.

Hermione tried to keep the tears that flooded her eyes at bay as she lightly fingered the work. "It's so beautiful! Thank you so much! Wow… you're very talented," she praised him with a shy smile, her heart bursting with joy as he slipped the chain about her neck and latched it securely in place. Draco had made her something exquisite, and he was dressed so handsomely, and he was kissing her… She'd never, ever have guessed in a million years that something this wonderful could happen for her – and with him of all people. "I made you something, too." From under the sash of her dress, she pulled out the necklace she'd woven from clouds for him. "It's not as marvelous as your gift, but, well, I gave it my all." She made a small shrug as she handed it over. "I guess studying is more my forte."

Draco held it up – and his face broke into a brilliant smile. "Wicked," he murmured, then quickly donned it. It lay across his silky-looking cravat, and strangely, went well with the outfit, despite its incongruity. "No one's ever made me something before, you know," he admitted, his fingers roaming over the piece with something like pride. "Thank you."

Their eyes met again, and she felt it then, deep inside her chest – a spark ignited that had nothing to do with lust, and everything to do with love.

Time seemed to slow.

How odd that she would find this feeling with the boy-man she'd hated for so long. How peculiar that it felt as if this were the moment she'd been waiting for since she woke up in this new state of living.

* * *

Draco's heart was pounding like a stallion's on the course, the sound loud in his ears, the feeling indescribably achy and exhilarating at the same time.

He loved her – not only for what she'd done for him, but for the person she was inside and out. Hermione Granger was beautiful and smart and talented and persevering and… everything he'd ever wanted. She was _his_ salvation in every way that mattered.

"Come with me." Taking her unresisting hand, he tugged her out the window behind the tree, heading them with purpose up into the sky, to float amongst the clouds above their permanent home.

Today was surprisingly sunny, and the clouds in the sky were fluffy and white, rather than the usual stormy grey of winter. He found a puffy cumulus he liked, with a view of the whole loch beneath them, and set them upon it. The sun shone brilliantly up here, illuminating Hermione's pretty green dress, the silver locket he'd given her, her golden skin and the glints of color in her hair that were normally overlooked under northern Scotland's murky weather pattern for much of the year. Gone was her ghostly pallor; at that moment, in the full light of the sun, she looked like an ordinary eighteen-year-old, healthy, vibrant young woman.

Enticed by the glinting amber strands amongst the dark brunette locks, he gently gathered a few and watched them twirl between his fingers. "I never noticed how colorful your hair was," he admitted without a censor for his thoughts. "It's really pretty."

A blush covered her cheeks again, and he found her modesty rather becoming.

"Thank you," she graciously accepted the compliment.

Letting his fingers slide to her temple and down over her jaw, tracing the curve, he brought them around to her gently rounded chin, and up to outline her petal-soft lips with feathery touches. "Did you mean it, the other day? When you said you were falling for me?"

Their eyes met, and he felt himself tumbling again into those brandy-colored depths.

Slowly, she nodded. "Did you?"

He mimicked her action. "Yes." He took a deep breath, tugged her down into a seated position next to him, and said what had been weighing heavily upon his mind for the past few days. "Hermione, I know why we're here."

Granger blinked, her brows lowering in obvious confusion. "You mean here on this cloud, or here, as in an afterlife?"

"As spirits," he confirmed for her.

Everything inside him was trembling with anxiety, afraid that revealing this information to her would change everything between them – and possibly that he would lose her for it. But she deserved to know the truth. If there was even the slightest chance that she could pass through the Veil and find rest, he loved her enough not to deny her that kind of peace any longer. She'd done enough suffering in her short life, and it wouldn't be right to prolong it, no matter what the more selfish side of his personality wanted. His talk with Dumbledore this morning had made him see reason.

"You died for me," he stated with some resignation. "I watched it happen. I knew the moment you fell I would be right behind you. I was scared, but in that moment, I was really angry with you, too, for trying to save me because I knew even then that I didn't deserve your life." His eyes followed the pattern of his fingertips as they ghosted the skin of her golden-pinked cheeks. "You were light and goodness, and I was responsible for that going out of the world. The hell of it is I never even said 'thank you.' You were just… gone, and there was no time."

Her gaze dropped to her lap. "That might explain why you're here – an unresolved issue of responsibility – but not me."

His fingers stroked over her lips again. "Doesn't it?" He leaned in slowly, tilting her chin up to force her to meet his gaze. "Why _did_ you move yourself into the path of that curse, Granger? You could have stayed put and let it take me. It was _my_ fate to die that day, not yours."

Tears prickled her bronzed-coffee depths and she bit her bottom lip with force, as if attempting to will them back by exerting pain to buck her will. "But that's just it, Draco: I didn't _want_ you to die."

"Why did you care?" he pushed, wanting her to really understand by coming to the same conclusions he had. "What were you thinking right at that moment?"

Her whole body began shaking, as if she were afraid to know the truth. "Y-You'd done some terrible things in your life, and… and I thought it wouldn't be right for you to d-die before you could make that r-right. You made bad choices, but you weren't evil, just… just conditioned by your family's ideas and… scared."

He nodded. "You did it because you wanted to save my soul," he gently accused. "If I'd died right then, there would be no chance for redemption for me. I'd have immediately passed into the Veil and suffered for eternity for all of the rotten, cruel things I'd done in life – all of the lying, the cheating, the stealing, the mistreatment of others, and for everything I was responsible for during the war."

Loyally, she shook her head, trying to deny the truth, coloured by her feelings for him. He needed to remind her, it seemed, of exactly the person he'd been prior to a few short weeks ago.

"Hermione, I was a rotten bastard in life, and you know it," he firmly reasserted with gritted teeth, gripping her shoulders and holding tight. "I attacked you and your friends for years, bullying you all because I enjoyed making you angry and afraid. I laughed as my words chipped away at your self-esteem. I helped Umbridge illegally drug students. I abused my power as a Prefect to get what I wanted from other students. I willingly took the Dark Mark to get revenge on your Order. I made the promise to kill Dumbledore without hesitation. I used an Unforgivable to bend Madam Rosmerta to my will to accomplish my goals, and nearly killed two innocent people – Weasley and Bell - in the mix. And I cast the Cruciatus at Potter that day in the loo, wanting to bring him down."

"I know, Draco, but-" she tried to excuse, but he wouldn't let her, talking right over her protest.

"No, this needs to be said, Granger," he growled, speaking louder to drown her out. "I was responsible for the war starting by letting the Death Eaters into the castle that night. I had my wand pointed at Dumbledore to kill him. I stood back and let you be horribly tortured by my Aunt. I was complicit in causing you pain and suffering over and over again. And you know as well as I do those kinds of evil deeds stain a soul. I was heading to Hell and you knew that, didn't you?"

She put a hand over his mouth. Her warm, honey-brown eyes were agonized. "Fine, you were a despicable person a lot of the time, but you weren't wholly evil, were you? You _didn't_ kill Dumbledore. Myrtle confided in me that you'd felt positively sick over hurting Katie and Ron. You'd tried to warn my friends to get me to safety during the Death Eater attack at the Quidditch World Cup. And you didn't rat out Harry to your sadistic Aunt when you'd had the chance." She touched his cheek with soft hands that seemed to burn straight through his soul. "When I was being held at your home by the Snatchers, I knew there was nothing you could do. The whole house was filled with Voldemort sympathizers who were much more powerful than either of us together. I remember looking into your eyes for one second, and I saw you wanted to help, but you were afraid for yourself and your family. You were in a no-win position that day, and I never blamed you for that, Draco – _never_." She shook her head. "And in the Room of Hidden Things, I heard you try to stop Crabbe. He's the one who bullied on through and started the fight that led to his death. I watched you cry for him after, lying on the floor, remember? You couldn't have done something so human if you were anything like Voldemort. I knew you were redeemable then."

He swallowed hard and pressed his forehead to hers. "So, you made a devil's bargain: your life in exchange for giving me time to find that redemption."

A sob escaped her, and when she shut her eyes, twin trails of salty water streamed down her cheeks. Draco captured them with his lips, kissing them away and feeling his own set themselves free _finally_.

"Bloody Gryffindor, it worked, you know," he stated, bringing it all together by laying out the pieces of this tragic and convoluted puzzle so they fit into the picture he knew to be true. "Your death stirred my guilt, so when I died soon after you, my soul was firmly in balance, unable to move either way past the Veil. I'd escaped Hell because of your sacrifice, but I was still trapped, unable to find rest and too afraid to let Death take me into Limbo to wait for something to change. That's why I became a ghost." He nuzzled her cheek and sighed. "But you stayed behind, too - not because you couldn't pass into Heaven, but because you _chose_ not to. Your soul knew I would need your help to find the path that you'd gambled for, so you stayed behind to help me – to teach me to be a better person, to fix what was broken inside of me and to save me." He looked her in the eye. "Do you understand what I'm telling you, love?"

Through beaded lashes, she stared at him, wonder replacing her misery. "You're saying… I'm your… your g-guardian angel?"

He nodded, hot tears falling from his cheeks. "Your grace has always been the key to my finding salvation, Hermione. That's why only _your_ touch affects me. I 'live' again through your mercy and goodness," he kissed her chastely, a quick pull of lips. "And as my soul's guardian, you 'live' again when you give it to me. That's why you can only feel when _I_ touch you back." He kissed her again, and again, each taste growing more passionate as he spilled all of his feelings into her. Driven by a need to melt into her in every way, he tightened his embrace, pulling her in until there was no space between them. " _My_ angel…"

Trembling in his arms, her eyes met his. "Yes," she whispered in surrender - not only in acceptance of the truth, but to their growing love - and closed the distance between their lips, making time stop for him again, making the world disappear, and once again bringing full life to his phantom body.

It was an unspoken agreement that they would make love. Their feverishly hot hands divested each other of clothing quickly, an equal desperation to this act that culminated in him laying her back into the soft, swirling mists, allowing his mouth and hands free reign to discover all of Hermione Granger's lush, wanton secrets.

Her breasts were beautiful in the bright sunlight, her cherry-coloured nipples ripe under his nipping teeth. Suckling them into taut points, he grew incredibly hard as her breathy sighs rapidly transformed into husky moans, urging him onward. Wanting to linger, but compelled by his own body's demanding influence, he regretfully let-up his attention on her lovely flesh, leaving behind twin love bites upon each rosy-colored areola as a parting mark, and moved south, over the plane of her flat belly, lavishing attention on her hip bones and the shallow hollow in between.

Dipping into her soft, lush curls with careful caresses, his body tightened with painful longing to find her already damp. Groaning, he dropped his mouth to delve into her lower lips, tasting her essence again, and pressing his nose to her moist skin and drawing deep breaths. Gods, her scent and flavour drove him wild! Gripping her hips to hold her still, he lavished full attention upon his task, never letting up, thrusting deep into her tight, small hole with his tongue, lapping through the fleshy seam of her lower lips, flicking and suckling on her swollen, pink clit with the same devotion as her breasts. It didn't take long for her to slip over the edge of reason, crying out and straining against his feasting lips.

Kneeling, he brought his lower body into direct contact with her moist core, rubbing his fully-erect length through her honeyed slit, assuring its slickness before guiding it to her opening. Pausing at the entrance, his weeping, flared crown nudging her tempting, hot depths, he lay over her on his elbows, fisted some curls through his fingers, and brought her mouth back to his, letting her taste her arousal upon his tongue.

"I love you," he whispered against her lips as he parted her silken flesh with a slow, gliding motion, and gently took her virginity. He freely gave her his whole heart and soul in return.

* * *

Hermione's body was aflame with sensation – sore from being stretched open, aching for Malfoy to move, wanting to stand upon the precipice of pleasure and pain just like this forever with him, as she was meant to. The pieces of her life and her death came together, and the previously fathomless enigma became brilliantly clear, forming a picture of endearing hope, with the promise of eternal love.

"I love you, too," she sighed, and gently rocked her hips against his, her lips seeking more of his kiss. "Don't stop, Draco. Love me all the way."

He moved with her, his surging hips driving the sumptuous heat between them higher until she was bathed in sweat and dying all over again, this time in need. He loved her slowly, sweetly, his mouth everywhere, enticing her pleasure until she thought she'd go mad and whimpered for faster, deeper penetration. Only then did he increase the pace of his thrusts. When her climax finally overtook her, she embraced the tumbling crescendo, allowing it to wring the cry of his name from her throat, surrendering to its beauty and light. His orgasm gripped him with similar power seconds later, and he spilled warm, liquid heat into her with a whispered, devout sigh of, _"Hermione."_

Wrapping his arms about her, holding her to his chest, Draco held her tight against his heart and didn't let go even after his hips had stilled, and their shaking had ceased.

In the rosy glow of the setting sun, they finally regained cognizance. He rolled his weight off of her, careful not to disconnect their bodies, and pulled her in close. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, clearly concerned, his fingers trailing over her damp skin, caressing with care. "Did you like it?"

She nodded. "It was _so beautiful._ Thank you." Taking a deep, clearing breath, she sighed in contentment and stifled a yawn. "Do you think we could sleep up here tonight? I'm too tired to get redressed."

Her lover chuckled against her hair, and pulled her in tight. "I don't mind. Just… I'll want to do it again with you. Do you?"

Kissing his collarbone, she giggled. "Why don't you try to seduce me later and find out?"

After a short nap, he did exactly that. And then he did it again an hour or so after that. They got very little sleep that night, making the most of their first Christmas together.

At sunrise, they had a very important discussion - one that changed everything.

* * *

**Saturday, December 25th, 1999**

 

One year together. That had been the agreement they'd made the morning after they'd made love for the first time. Watching the sun rise that day, they'd promised that they would give themselves a full year to explore their love, to marry, and to give what they could back to Hogwarts for providing them the opportunity to reconnect in their afterlives.

Having asked Minerva to owl their closest friends and family members, requesting they come to Hogwarts on Christmas afternoon at one o'clock, to meet with them in the Great Hall, Hermione and Draco waited together, both nervous. Everyone had been given notice months ago that today would be the day, and she wondered who would come, and who wouldn't be able to bear saying goodbye one last time.

"They'll all come," her husband reassured her, his palm tight against hers, as they stared out the large picture window at the front of the hall. "They promised."

To her utter relief, his prediction came true. At the appointed time, the hall was packed with their loved ones and friends. The ghosts were all there, as well as the staff and most of her former classmates. Many of the current students had also decided to return to school for this one day as well. A large portrait was even brought in for the moving pictures to come and witness the events, if they wished.

In the front, standing below the teacher's platform, stood her parents, his parents, the Weasley clan, Harry, Neville, Luna, Hagrid, the remaining Order members, Blaise and Theodore. Everyone else crammed in behind. Dumbledore and Severus were at the front of the portraits. The Grey Lady and The Baron stood hovering to the side, next to The Friar, Sir Nicholas, Myrtle, and the other castle spirits. Even Peeves stuck his head in; The Baron's hard look made sure the poltergeist behaved. It was a lovely send-off.

"Thank you all for coming," Hermione nervously greeted them. "This is an important day for us, and we wanted you to share it." She glanced at Draco and took a deep breath. "As you all know, we decided… that is, Draco and I have decided… that life is a precious gift, and-" Here she faltered, feeling her chest hitch with sadness.

Her husband took up the mantle, squaring his shoulders, supporting her with an arm about her waist. "What Hermione means to say is that we're grateful for the lives we had, but now it's time for us to let them go. We're… honestly, we're hoping to be reborn." He looked down at her and gave her a tremulous smile. "I want a chance to make her my wife again, and this time to have children with her, and grow old with her like we were supposed to."

Hermione's eyes roamed his face and she nodded her agreement. "I want the same." She turned to those in attendance, seeing standing tears in every eye, including Lucius Malfoy much to her surprise. "I hope you'll pray for us to get another chance. And, please don't be too sad. Just think of this as our passing into eternal happiness instead."

Molly broke down weeping then, and that set off a cascade of sniffling and tears. Narcissa turned into her husband's chest and silently sobbed. Ginny did likewise with Harry. Her parents were hugging, their faces hidden, their shoulders shaking. Theo put a comforting hand on Blaise's shoulder to steady his friend, who'd dropped his face into the palm of his hand.

Before she lost her courage entirely, Hermione turned to her husband and took off the necklace he'd given her. She cracked open the wings to reveal the empty space inside. "Ready?" she whispered to him.

Draco nodded.

* * *

He closed his eyes and focused on the past year, how every day had seemed an eternity of happiness and love with his beautiful wife. Hermione really had saved him, helping him to open up and to bloom into the man he now wished he would become in the next life. They'd spent every waking and sleeping moment together, never separated or tiring of each other, working side-by-side to help students and the staff, and to make Hogwarts into a home where blood prejudice was quickly becoming an archaic ideal. They'd watched their living friends graduate, their ghostly friends celebrate their Death Days, and noted the passage of the seasons with a new, more appreciative enlightenment. He'd lived more in this last year than he had in the previous seventeen.

For the first time in his existence, he was truly grateful.

All of these thoughts and memories coalesced in the palm of his hand as he willed that bit of his ghostly essence into a tiny ball of light, no bigger than a quill tip, and slipped it inside the locket. Hermione did likewise with her own memories, and they sealed shut the locket once more. Floating over to The Grey Lady, they held both the locket and his dragon pendant necklace up for her to take. Surprised, Helena took the two necklaces with a tentative grasp.

"Please hold onto these for us," his wife requested of Ravenclaw's ghost. "In case we are reborn and come back through here someday, you can give them to us so we'll remember."

Helena looked down at the locket and pendant, their chains intimately entwined. "I will hold true to this charge and execute it when and if it is possible to do so," she promised them.

"Thank you, Helena," Draco bowed with all politeness to the one ghost who had befriended him from the very start, despite his surly disposition back then. "Baron," he acknowledged Helena's husband, who remained at her side, ever vigilant.

Taking a deep breath, they hovered back to their space before the Christmas tree and looked out on the faces of those they'd been blessed to have love them in their short lives. There were so many – more than he'd thought would ever come to his funeral, anyway.

Dumbledore… twinkling, mischievous eyes smiled at him with knowledge. Draco wondered what the old man knew that he didn't.

Snape… face as stoic in a picture as he'd been in life, giving nothing away, he bowed his head once, letting his godson know with that one action that he approved of the man he'd matured into.

His parents… Lucius nodded at him, eyes filled to the brim with tears, his gaze one of pride. Narcissa smiled through her own sadness, her mother's devotion eternal and unwavering.

Her parents… Richard and Eleanor Granger struggled to maintain their composure. They had eyes only for their daughter, who tremblingly whispered, "Goodbye, Daddy, Mum."

The Weasley clan… every single one of them looked a shade broken. They had lost one of their own in the fighting the year before, and now they were letting their adopted daughter go, too. It had to be hard for them. Ron looked devastated. The She-Weasel the same. They clung to each other, though, and Draco knew they would weather this storm, too.

Theo… in his typical enigmatic way, simply nodded, accepting that it was time to say 'farewell.' He seemed sorrowfully resigned.

Blaise… gave him a snarky smirk, even as his tears fell, unashamedly uninhibited. "Luck, mate," he murmured and Draco gave him a thankful nod and smile.

Potter… gave them the saddest smile of all. In his green eyes, though, Draco saw something he'd never thought he'd ever see from his greatest rival: forgiveness. The realization rocked through his core, making his heart tremble. "See ya, Scarhead," he jokingly took his leave from the wizard he'd spent all of his life envying.

Harry sniffed, and a tear fell down his cheek. "See ya, Ferret." He turned that mournful, emerald gaze on Hermione. "Love you, 'Mione. You're the sister I always wanted."

Next to him, Hermione's chin quivered and her voice broke. "Love you, too, Harry - and you, Ron. Be happy." Her voice lifted to take in the whole room. "We love you all," she braved on, fighting off her tears, keeping her chin up in true Gryffindor style. "We'll pray to one day have the chance to be with you all again. Until then, be happy and have good, long lives filled with love and many blessings."

Draco hugged her close. "Remember that every minute and every action counts." He looked over at Dumbledore, and nodded, giving an appreciative smile to his mentor for having helped him discover that particularly painful lesson. "Make it all good."

Their goodbyes to friends and family done, it was time for them to leave. They turned to each other. "Race you," Draco challenged his lover with a grin and started floating upwards without her, heading for their prearranged spot.

"Malfoy, you cheater!" his wife called after him, and hurried up after him. "I'm going to hex you when I catch up!"

He laughed and she followed him into the sky.

* * *

They made love for the last time on a big, fluffy cloud, taking time to touch, see, smell, taste, and hear every sensation possible. It was slow and sweet, just like their first time, and their release was simultaneous and the most satisfying either had ever experienced.

Naked, sitting up to watch the sun set, they held each other close in silence until the horizon's color bled into darkness. "Ready?" he asked this time.

Hermione took a deep breath. "What do you think we need to do?"

He kissed her cheek. "Close your eyes."

She did as he bade without question, trusting him with all her heart.

"Tell me you love me."

Hermione's tears finally fell. "I love you, Draco Lucius Malfoy. Now and forever."

"Tell me you'll find me again."

She gripped him tight, feeling the oddest sensation overtake her. Her warmth was going away. "I'll find you again. I promise."

He took a deep breath, and she felt his tears saturate her skin as they rolled down their joined cheeks. "I love you, Hermione Jean Granger-Malfoy. Now and forever. And I swear to God, I'll find you again."

A pulsing, comforting white light beckoned behind her lids, growing brighter and brighter until she feared she'd go completely blind.

" _Draco!_ "

His lips claimed hers again, effectively silencing her cry of fear.

And just like that, time stopped, and the world went silent and still.

Sensation quickly bled away until there was no more.

She knew then… Draco was truly gone.

* * *

Hermione wasn't sure how long she actually floated in the vast ocean of nothingness, but what seemed only seconds later, a train whistle blew. It startled her into consciousness. She opened her eyes, and found that she sat alone on a train at Platform 9¾. She was dressed in her Hogwarts uniform and robes, but oddly, her bag and wand were missing.

Through the window, to her right, movement caught her eye and she turned her head.

Albus Dumbledore stood on the station's small podium and waved to her, looking exactly as he had in life – long, grey robes, waist-length, white beard billowing in the breeze outside, his wizard's cap perched jauntily upon his head. Unconsciously, she waved back.

"Good journeys!" he merrily called out as the train rolled away from the station.

She blinked.

Endlessly countryside extended in every direction outside the train window as it moved at an impossible pace. There were no houses, no people, no animals – only an endless sea of grass and blue horizon. Hermione took it all in, patiently waiting for her end destination to arrive. It had to be soon, right?

She blinked.

The stop platform was painted all white. There was no station, but the raised stage for passenger disembarking. Hermione looked about. She was somewhere she'd never been before, and yet the landscape seemed _so familiar_ somehow. In the distance, a lopsided, several-storied house could barely be seen rising above a tall thatch of golden marsh grass. There was warm light radiating from the place, and even across the expanse, she could hear many voices engaged in cheerful conversation and good dining on the bottom level, utensils meeting plates and calls for, "More, please, Molly!" ringing out. In a bedroom at the top, a passionately kissing man and woman were silhouetted in a window behind a thin curtain, their eager hands hastily disrobing the other an instant before the room's light went out.

Perhaps that was where she was supposed to go?

Looking about, she frowned. Why was there was no one here to greet her? Shouldn't someone have been here waiting for her? Concentrating, she tried to remember who that was.

A name popped into her head.

"Draco."

Memory returned.

She looked about as the train rolled onward and away, its whistle echoing as it pulled out of sight, leaving her utterly alone in the middle of what appeared to be the marshy land around Ottery Saint Catchpole.

Where was Draco? Why wasn't he here? Wasn't he supposed to meet her? He'd vowed to find her, after all.

Suddenly very terrified, she closed her eyes and prayed aloud, repeating her sacred mantra over and over again, forcing herself never to forget:

"I love you, Draco Lucius Malfoy. Now and forever. I'll find you again. I promise."

"I love you, Draco Lucius Malfoy. Now and forever. I'll find you again. I promise."

"I love you, Draco Lucius Malfoy…"

That pulsing, bright light behind her eyelids blazed into life once more, and she was suddenly several degrees hotter. She only ever remembered being this warm in _his_ arms, as he had held her close to his heart after their love-making. Had her husband come for her finally?

"Draco?"

That was Hermione Jean Granger-Malfoy's very last word and thought, as the life and afterlife she'd known for twenty years abruptly ended, and her new life began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunset in Scotland on December 25, 1998 was at 3:47pm.
> 
> JKR made a distinction between Limbo and the Veil, as well as between ghosts, poltergeists and souls. There are interesting articles and discussions about these things found on the Harry Potter Wikipedia site here (remember to remove all spaces from the URLs below to make them load properly):  
> http://harrypotter.wikiawiki/Veil  
> http://harrypotter.wikiawiki/Limbo  
> http://harrypotter.wikiawiki/Soul  
> http://harrypotter.wikiawiki/Ghost  
> http://harrypotter.wikiawiki/Poltergeist


	7. Amazing Grace

 

 

.  
_**Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,**_  
_**That saved a wretch like me…**_  
_**I once was lost, but now am found.**_  
_**Was blind, but now I see.**_  
.

 

_**EPILOGUE** _

**September 1st, 2017**

 

Rose Weasley had been tapped to be this generation's cleverest witch even before stepping foot on Hogwarts property - that despite her father's obvious lackadaisical attitude about all things of scholarship.

Ronald Bilius Weasley may have been an Auror and best friend to Uncle Harry - 'The Boy Who Conquered,' he was jokingly called - but her dad was definitely not even half as ambitious or clever as the now-missing third-part of 'The Golden Trio' that she'd read about as a child in _Hogwarts, A History_ , her favourite book. No, Rose clearly got her penchant for reading and learning from her mother's Ravenclaw genes. Amanda Brocklehurst-Weasley may not have been top of the class, either, but she'd ranked in at number five before the war had thrown the education system into a tizzy for a few years.

Well, and to be truthful, Rose did have a little bit of hero-worship for the long-deceased war idol, Hermione Granger. If even half of the things she'd read about the witch were true, she'd been amazing! Growing up, listening to stories of the woman's exploits alongside her dad and Uncle Harry, Rose had been star-struck by the witch's bravado, intelligence, and compassionate nature. She'd spent much of her formative years trying to emulate her ideal superwoman, voraciously studying up on all things magic so she'd be prepared once she achieved her first wand.

And now here she was, entering the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts, ready to be sorted! It was all so magical and confusing and wonderful!

As they passed the giant wooden doors into the Great Hall, Rose looked up. The ceiling was enchanted just as her favourite book had stated! In a sweeping glance, she took it all in: the cheery fire roaring in the huge, stone hearth on the far right of the room, the teacher's table set at the front before a set of tall stained-glass windows, and every eye in the room on herself and the other first years walking single file between the tables for Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. She listened attentively to the names of her fellow witches and wizards being called by the Deputy Headmistress, Aurora Sinistra, to finally meet the infamous Sorting Hat at the front of the room.

They were almost half the way through the list of names when Rose noted _that boy_ \- the one her father had pointed out to her at King's Cross Station - looking at her again. He was four people ahead of her in line, but he kept turning back and glancing at her, throwing a combination of infuriating smirks and scowls.

What the bloody hell was his problem anyway?

A strange heat began gathering in her chest, and Rose rubbed at it, conscientious that each time the young wizard with the platinum blond hair and the silver-eyed gaze stared at her, the warmth became more intense.

"Scorpius Malfoy."

The weird, stalker-ish boy in question walked up to the front of the room and took a seat on the stool with cool arrogance. Rose's father's conversation about him at the Station flashed through her mind again…

" _Blimey, he looks just like his brother, don't he, Harry? Even down to the ferrety face and hair! Looks like age didn't stop ol' Lucius and Narcissa from gettin' squicky again."_

" _The Malfoys needed an heir. Guess they tried again after…"_

" _Yeah. Seems so."_

The Sorting Hat was only seated on that rakishly-combed head for a second before it declared the boy's allegiance: "SLYTHERIN!"

With a smarmy smirk, Scorpius - _what kind of name was that, anyway?_ \- made his way to his cheering table, high-fiving some of the members of his new House. Rose rolled her eyes at such immaturity, and focused instead back on the list as it continued: Corwin McLaggen - Gryffindor, Xander Nott - another Slytherin, Albus Potter - sent to Gryffindor, of course, Christopher Pucey - Hufflepuff, Brian Rickett - Hufflepuff, Lorcan Scamander - Ravenclaw, Lysander Scamander - Gryffindor, Daniel Stretton - Ravenclaw…

"Rose Weasley."

Taking a deep breath, Rose made her way up to the stool and sat down, her eyes taking in the room, connecting with and stopping on the Malfoy boy. He salaciously grinned at her, and she narrowed her eyes at him in distaste.

The hat plunked down on her head a second later, cutting off all sight. "Yet _another_ Weasley," it drawled. "Oh, ho! But this one is not like the others! Hmmm… Studious, brave, crafty, generous. You remind me of another girl I once sorted. Oh, dear, dear… where shall we put _you_ , though?"

"Gryffindor or Ravenclaw," she stated with firm insistence. "I'd prefer either House over the other two."

"Is that so?" the hat seemed intrigued. "Well, since you put it that way, we might as well not break tradition. GRYFFINDOR!" it announced, and the hat was removed from her head an instant later. Rose hopped off the stool and took her rightful place amongst her own cheering table.

The rest of the night was a flutter of activity - enjoying the feast, talking to her cousins and Teddy Lupin, most of whom were in her House, too. Yet, despite the excitement of the celebration, Rose's eyes were continually drawn across the room to a particular head of platinum hair and a pair of taunting, grey eyes that seemed as familiar to her as her own soul.

 

* * *

"Tonight, beloved?"

Helena watched the interplay from the corner of the Hall between the Weasley girl and the Malfoy boy. They were so similar to their previous incarnations that it was almost like looking upon her former friends once more.

She looked down at the intertwined locket and dragon pendant necklaces cradled in the palm of her hand and sighed with sincere relief. Her duty would end anon. "Yes, tonight when they are abed and enjoying flights of fancy, we will open the wings and allow them their memories back. And tomorrow, I shall hand both over to them and we will explain their confusion away." She glanced at the young wizard and witch, smiled, and tucked the jewellery away in an inner pocket of her robes. "I envy their courage," she admitted, leaning back into her husband's strong arms. "They did what we could not, and now they are rewarded. Their souls will be together again." She glanced over her shoulder at Hugh Black, the man she had loved for almost ten centuries. "Perhaps someday, when we are both ready, we might embark upon the same journey, beloved?"

Hugh's warm embrace engulfed her and he nudged his chin for her to look up. Above them, enchanted mistletoe curled lazily downward, capturing them in its mischievous snare. "Perhaps," her enigmatic lover offered, one hand slipping around to cup her hind and pull her intimately up against his hard arousal. "When a thousand more years have passed, and I have properly atoned for all the centuries of neglect you endured, then we may pass on together. I intend upon granting you, my wife, much love and many blessings before then, as Lady Granger once bid us do."

He bent his head and swiftly captured her lips in a kiss that made Helena's toes curl and her spectral heart pound. Only her Baron had ever made her feel anything in the afterlife she had chosen to inhabit… and thanks to the amazing grace of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger she now understood why.

As the mistletoe's spell broke with an audible 'pop,' Helena sneaked a quick look over her lover's shoulder, noting that no one was paying them the slightest attention. "Every minute and every action counts, my husband," she reminded him.

Her Baron lasciviously chuckled. "As you wish, my angel."

Taking her hands in his, Slytherin's ghost led them out of the Great Hall and down into the dungeons to the room he had taken over for his use a long time ago. There, upon his fluffy, captured cloud, for the next several hours, he proceeded to make good on his promises.

 

_**~FIN~** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S FINAL NOTES:
> 
> Thank you for taking this journey with Ghost!Hermione and Ghost!Draco. I thoroughly enjoyed writing this series, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. Did it surprise you? Had you expected things to go in this direction? PLEASE REVIEW and let me know, yeah? I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> I am sorry to say that there will be no spin-off or continuation. I feel the story is complete as it stands, and it leaves the future open to you to use your imagination to reveal how Rose/Hermione and Scorpius/Draco will interact once they discover the truth, and how they will fall in love again. Will it be a difficult journey for them, or will they give in to the feelings of their previous incarnations? You decide.
> 
> .
> 
> Musical Selection for this story: "Viva Forever" by the Spice Girls.
> 
> Do you still remember how we used to be?  
> "Feeling together,  
> believing whatever,"  
> my love has said to me.
> 
> Both of us were dreamers -  
> young love in the sun.  
> (You) Felt like my saviour.  
> My spirit I gave you.  
> We'd only just begun.
> 
> Hasta mañana...  
> always be mine.
> 
> Viva forever.  
> I'll be waiting...  
> everlasting...  
> like the sun.  
> Live forever,  
> for the moment,  
> ever searching for the one.
> 
> Yes, I still remember every whispered word.  
> The touch of your skin,  
> giving life from within,  
> like a love song that I'd heard.
> 
> Slippin' through our fingers,  
> like the sands of time.  
> Promises made,  
> every memory saved  
> has reflections in my mind.
> 
> Hasta mañana...  
> always be mine.
> 
> Viva forever.  
> I'll be waiting...  
> everlasting...  
> like the sun.  
> Live forever,  
> for the moment,  
> ever searching for the one.
> 
> Back where I belong now.  
> Was it just a dream?  
> Feelings unfold,  
> they will never be sold,  
> and the secret's safe with me.
> 
> Hasta mañana...  
> always be mine.
> 
> Viva forever.  
> I'll be waiting...  
> everlasting...  
> like the sun.  
> Live forever,  
> for the moment,  
> ever searching for the one.


	8. Awards & Pictures for "Amazing Grace"

  


* * *

  

**FAN-MADE BANNERS & IMAGES FOR "AMAZING GRACE"**

 

  **BANNER BY: GOBLETGRL**

 

  **BANNER BY TAREXCHAN**

 

**Author's Note:**

> JKR's writings on ghosts and poltergeists in the novels is contradictory in many cases (i.e. they supposedly can't touch anything, and yet Peeves can throw dung bombs, fungus-covered peanuts, etc. and Moaning Myrtle can flood the bathrooms and mess around with the bogs, and Sir Nicholas could be cured of Basilisk petrification with the administration of a potion by Madam Pomfrey; they supposedly can't eat, but at Sir Nicholas' Death-Day Party, there was food that was rotten and moldy, and one ghost commented that he could almost taste it as he ate it; they supposedly cannot decide to go to eternal rest if they choose, yet there is a comment by a portrait in one of the video games that JKR approved that speaks of a ghost departing his haunting and going beyond the Veil; the Headless Hunt's group all have horses, and yet the question belies, how did they get them, since their horses would have to have consciously made the decision to not seek an afterlife along with their owners at the time of their deaths; the ghosts can appear in various garb, dressing up as the situation requires, insinuating that they change clothes – but how, and where do they get the new clothes?). Things like that make it hard to stay "in canon" as it seems that not even JKR has a solid fix on what that term means in regards to ghosts for her story. For that reason, it is "open season" for us fanfickers – meaning, we can invent anything we want within the parameters already established. I have thus taken such liberties here in this story to make the plot come together.
> 
> Viscum album = Scientific name for European mistletoe.
> 
> I did not invent Professor Vindictus Viridian. He is a canon character, made up by J.K. Rowling. I did, however, invent the fact that he is responsible for the mistletoe springs popping up all over Hogwarts. It seemed like something he would do, given his name ('Vindictus' is a Latinized version for 'vindictive') and his brief history. Canon information about him indicates that he hated the hustle and bustle around the school by students, and he wrote a book on Curses and Counter-curses.
> 
> The Red-String of Fate = A cross-cultural superstition that stipulates that a spiritual, romantic tie (in the form of a red string) ties two people together (in European culture, the tie is through the chest, at the heart's level, while in Asian culture, it is said the tie is to the left pinky finger, and in ancient South American Indian culture, the tie was believed to be the right kneecap). It is said that those who can see such strings are mystics and should be greatly revered – and feared for their mysterious abilities.


End file.
